“And you, Black Partridge?”
“I have already spoken to the White Chief in his own wigwam, and given back the medal of the Americans,” was the grave response. “I have no more to say.”
I confess these words chilled me, as I recalled their meaning; and Heald half rose to his feet as though he would protest, but not a stolid face among the warriors changed in expression. Gomo drew his robes more closely about his gaunt figure in simple but impressive dignity.
“Doth Shaw-nee-aw-kee go east also with the white men?” he asked.
“I have not of late conferred with the Silver-man. He has been at his own lodge, and doubtless you may know his purpose better than I.”
“We wish him to stay. He good man; Pottawattomie’s friend.”
The Indian stood motionless, his eyes watching keenly the expression of each face. He added slowly:
“The White Chief hears the promise of the Pottawattomies. It is enough. He can go forth in peace upon the morrow, with all his warriors, squaws, and pappooses, and the people of my nation will walk with them as guards. It is our pledge; we will counsel no longer.”
At a simple commanding gesture of his long arms, the circle melted away through the narrow opening as silently as it had gathered, the dark figure of each warrior silhouetted for an instant against the red glare of the fire, before it suddenly disappeared in the darkness beyond. At last Little Sauk alone stood between us and the blaze.
“Come,” he commanded gruffly, “White Chief go back to his people.”
Enclosed by that same phantom guard of savages, we passed out through the limits of the camp; but now the rabble paid not the slightest heed to our presence. Our mission known, and no longer a mystery, they treated us with the stolid indifference of Indian contempt. I walked with eyes alert upon either side of our path for another glimpse of that girlish figure that I had seen before so dimly; but we traversed nearly the full length of the tepee rows before I saw any one that at all resembled her. Even then, I was far from certain, until the sudden leaping up of a dying fire reflected on her crown of auburn hair, and set my heart to throbbing.
“Little Sauk!” I cried, in my excitement clutching his naked arm, “who is that white girl yonder, and how comes she here?”
The startled Indian sprang aside, flinging me from him with a violence that showed his giant strength.
“No white girl,” he protested, vehemently. “Pottawattomie.”
“No Pottawattomie has hair like the sunset,” I retorted. “Come, I would speak with the girl.”
For an instant I saw the bead-like eyes of the savage glittering in the darkness and wandering where I pointed. He faced me doggedly.
“Long Knife leave Indian maid alone,” he said grimly. “Long Knife go Fort; no talk.”
I was in a mood to resist the fellow’s dictation, and reckless enough of consequences at that moment to take the chance; but Heald interfered.