Watusk shrugged and disappeared.  It was useless for Ambrose to shout at any of the others.  He fumed in silence.  The Indians gave his dangerous eyes a wide berth.

Meanwhile the camp was plunged into a babel of confusion by the order to move.

Boys ran here and there catching the horses, the teepees came down on the run, and the squaws frantically to pack their household gear.  Infants and dogs infected with a common excitement outvied each other in screaming and barking.

Ambrose saw only the beginning of the preparations.  A horse was brought to where he lay, and the six men whom he was beginning to recognize as his particular guard unbound his ankles and lifted him into the saddle.

They never dared lay hands on him except in concert—­he took what comfort he could out of that tribute to his prowess.  They tied his bound wrists to the saddle-horn, and also tied his ankles under the horse’s belly, leaving just play enough for him to use the stirrups.

The six then mounted their own horses, and they set off at a swift lope away from the river—­one leading Ambrose’s horse.

They extended themselves in single file along a well-beaten trail.  This, Ambrose knew, was the way to the Kakisa River—­their own country.

A chill struck to his breast.  Any intelligible danger may be faced with a good heart, but to be cast among capricious and inscrutable savages, whom he could neither command nor comprehend, was enough to undermine the stoutest courage.

Nevertheless he strove with himself as he rode.  “They cannot put it over me unless I knuckle under,” he thought.  “They’re afraid of me.  No Indian that ever lived can face out a white man when the white man knows his power.”

Several dogs followed them out of camp.  There was one that the others all snapped at and drove from among them.  Ambrose suddenly recognized Job, and his heart leaped up.

He had left him at Grampierre’s the night before.  The faithful little beast must have followed him down to the Kakisa camp and have been waiting for him ever since to return.

During the events of the last half-hour Job had no doubt been regarding his master from afar.  The other dogs would not let him run at the horses’ heels, but he followed indomitably in the rear.

Every time they went over a hill Ambrose saw him trotting patiently far behind in the trail.  When they stopped to eat there was a joyful reunion.

Ambrose no longer felt friendless.  He divided his rations with his humble follower.  The Indians smiled.  In this respect they evidently considered the formidable white man a little soft-headed.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A GLEAM OF HOPE.

In the middle of the third day of hard riding over a flower-starred prairie, and through belts of poplar bush, they came to the Kakisa River.