There was nothing to be seen within, excepting some skins flung carelessly upon the short trodden grass.  We sat down silently upon these, gazing out through the narrow opening at the blazing fire and the numerous moving figures constantly crowding closer about the entrance, both of us too deeply immersed in thought to care for speech.

The black shadows upon the tepee cover told me that guards had been posted to keep back the rabble from intrusion, and once I saw signs of a brief struggle in front when the swarm had grown too inquisitive and were forced back with scant ceremony.  The weird dance and incantation continued; and although I knew but little of the customs of the Pottawattomies, there was a cruel savagery and ferocity about it which I felt held but little promise of peace.

“’T is the war-dance,” whispered Heald in my ear, “and bodes ill for our purpose.  See! the red wampum is in the fellow’s hand.”

As I bent forward to catch the gleam of it in the flames, a new figure suddenly flitted past our narrow vista, between us and the wild circle of dancers.  It was a woman, attired in fanciful Indian dress; but surely no Pottawattomie squaw ever possessed so graceful a carriage, or bore so clear a face.

“Captain!” I ejaculated eagerly.  “Did you see that white woman there, with the long skirt and red hair?”

“Ay!” he answered as though he scarce had faith in his own eyes.  “I marked not the color of her hair, but I saw the lass, and, by Saint George! she looked to me like old Roger Matherson’s daughter.”

CHAPTER XXI

A COUNCIL OF CHIEFS

I was on my feet in an instant, forgetful of everything excepting my duty to this girl whom I had come so far to find, and who now was plainly a prisoner in Indian hands.  At the entrance of the tepee, a scowling warrior pushed me roughly back, pretending not to understand my eager words of expostulation, and, by significant gesture, threatening to brain me with his gun-stock if I persisted.  A slight return of reason alone kept me from striking the fellow down and striding over his prostrate body.  While I stood struggling with this temptation, Captain Heald grasped me firmly.

“Are you mad, Wayland?” he muttered, dragging me back into the dark interior of the tepee.  “For God’s sake, don’t anger these fellows!  Think of all the helpless lives depending on the success of our errand here!  What is the girl to you?”

“I will wait,” I answered, calmed by his earnestness, and ashamed of my boyish impetuosity; “but I am here at Dearborn seeking this young woman, whom I had supposed rather to be a young child.  Her father was my father’s dearest friend, and wrote us from his death-bed asking our protection for her.”