He was in full war-paint and feathers, which showed he was on the war-path, and Billy felt that it was all over with him.

Speaking to him in Sioux, which the boy understood, he asked: 

“What pale-face boy do here?”

“My leg is broken.”

“What for come here?”

“To get furs.”

“This red-skin country?”

This laconic assertion Billy could not contradict, so he wisely held his peace.

“Let see leg,” came next.

Billy showed him the bandaged limb, which was broken between the knee and ankle.

Just then another Indian entered whom Billy recognized, as having seen before, and whom he knew to be the great Sioux Chief, Rain-in-the-Face.

Billy called him by name, and he kept back the warriors, who were about to end the boy’s life then and there.

“Boy pale-face know chief?” asked Rain-in-the-Face.

“Yes, I saw you at Fort Laramie, and gave you a knife,” said Billy with hope in his heart.

“Ugh! chief don’t forget; have knife here,” and he showed a knife which he had doubtless often used upon the scalps of pale-faces.

“What pale-face boy do here?”

Billy told him.

“Where friend?”

“Gone after team.”

“When come back?”

Billy was afraid to tell him the truth, so said: 

“In two moons.”

“Long time.”

“Yes; but do your young men intend to kill me?”

“Me have talk and see.”

The Indians then held a council together, and Billy could see that the chances were against him; but old Rain-in-the-Face triumphed in the end, and said: 

“As pale-face boy is only pappoose, my young men not kill him.”

Billy had often longed to be a man; but now he was happy that he was a boy, and answered: 

“Yes, I am only a little pappoose.”

“Him heap bad pappoose, me remember,” said Rain-in-the-Face, recalling some of the jokes the boy played at Fort Laramie.

The Indians then unsaddled their ponies and camped at the dug-out for two days, and when they left they carried with them the sugar and coffee, Billy’s rifle and one revolver, and most of the ammunition, besides what cooking utensils they needed.

Then old Rain-in-the-Face bade the boy good-by, and they rode off without poor Billy’s blessing following them.

Hardly had they gone before a severe snow-storm sprung up, and it was hard indeed for the crippled boy to get wood enough to build a fire, for the red-skins had put it out before leaving.

The wolves, seemingly understanding how helpless the boy was, scratched at the door, and ran over the roof of the dug-out, at the same time howling viciously; but Billy frightened them off with an occasional shot, and resigned himself to his lonely fate.

But at last a month passed away, and with its end appeared brave Dave Harrington.