CHAPTER IX. A DOG IN THE WAY.

It was evident to Wilder, from the first of the conversation that he listened to, between Laurie and Farnsworth, that White Shield had not brought Flora Robinette to the rendezvous. He was not really surprised at this; but his fears were awakened and strengthened, and he could not avoid an oppressive feeling of anxiety. He made no inquiries about them, but remained a week at the encampment, hoping that they might come in.

At the end of that time, as he had heard nothing of them, he was forced to the conclusion that his suspicions had been too well founded, and that White Shield had betrayed him. It was possible that they might have been captured by some roving band of Indians; but it was not at all probable that so brave and wily a warrior as the Blackfoot would have suffered himself to be taken by any enemy. Wilder could only believe that he had gone back to the Blackfeet, or that he had taken possession of Flora for purposes of his own.

Quite despondent, the young man sallied out one morning on a hunting-excursion. He went alone, hoping to meet with some excitement that would prevent his mind from brooding over his half-accomplished achievement. He was by no means prepared to abandon the object with which he had left the Blackfeet. On the contrary, he was determined that he would not be so easily outdone, and it was his intention to seek for the missing companions of his flight, to rescue Flora from the Indians, and to punish White Shield for his treachery.

He had poor luck with his hunting that morning, the reason being, probably, that his mind was too much occupied with other matters. Somewhat discouraged, he ascended a hill, from which he could have a good view of the surrounding country, and looked to see whether any game was visible.

In the distance he descried a dark object, slowly moving over the plain. He was sure that it was no four-legged animal, and was soon convinced that it was a man on foot; but he could not tell whether it was an Indian or a white man.

Curious to know who the solitary traveler could be, he descended the hill, and rode toward the object. The man discovered him, and seemed to wish to avoid him; but there was no way of escaping on the prairie, and at last he stopped, waiting the approach of the horseman.

As he drew near to the stranger, Wilder perceived that he was an Indian. Nearer yet, he thought that he discovered a resemblance in his features to those of White Shield. Yes; it must be his red brother; for the Indian recognizes him, and runs eagerly forward to meet him. Wilder is surprised; he can not believe that this is the athletic and fine-looking warrior from whom he lately separated; for the form of White Shield is fearfully emaciated, his eyes are hollow, he is entirely without arms, and the few garments that remain to him hang about him in tatters.

Instead of advancing to meet him, Wilder reined in his horse, and leveled his rifle at the Indian.

“Shall I shoot you now?” he said; “or shall I wait until I hear what you have to say?”

The Blackfoot, who did not attempt to conceal his surprise, advanced no further, but looked steadily at the leveled rifle.

“If my brother wishes to kill me,” he replied, “let him shoot. White Shield is ready to go to the spirit-land.”

“Are you sure that you are ready? Is there nothing you have done that frightens you?”

“White Shield is not afraid. His heart is clean, and his tongue is straight. The path is broad before him. Let my brother shoot.”

“Why have you betrayed me?”

“White Shield betrayed his own people, to please his brother. Is it for that reason that he is called a traitor? Let Silverspur shoot.”

Wilder could not contain himself any longer. The truth and affection of the Indian were so manifest, that he felt that he could not blame himself sufficiently for his suspicions. He leaped from his horse, threw his rifle upon the ground, ran to the Indian, and fairly hugged him.

“The heart of Silverspur was hot,” he said. “A little bird whispered to me, and told me lies. I have done wrong; but my brother will forgive me.”

“The heart of White Shield is warm. What did the little bird say to my brother?”

“Where is the white maiden?”

“With the Indians of the south--with the Arapahoes.”

“Why is she there?”

The Indian proceeded to relate his adventures since he had parted from his friend.

He had gone to the peak which he had pointed out, and had waited there a while. Fearing that Silverspur had been killed, and that the Blackfeet might follow on the trail, he had judged it best--for the safety of Flora Robinette, which he supposed to be the chief consideration with his friend--to continue his flight toward the south, and he left an arrow to indicate that he had gone in that direction.

When night came on, he encamped, and waited for his friend. There could be no doubt that Wilder had wandered widely from the trail, as White Shield, when he considered himself out of danger from the pursuing Blackfeet, had searched for him in vain. Concluding that Silverspur had lost his life in the defense of the pass, the Indian had no alternative but to push on toward the rendezvous, to which his friend had promised to take the young lady. Flora was greatly grieved at the loss of her friend and deliverer, but made no other complaints, and went on bravely, trusting implicitly in her Blackfoot guide.

It was a long journey, the Indian said, and the young lady could not travel very rapidly. He guarded her as well as he was able to; but it was impossible to ride all day and watch all night. One night, when he had fallen asleep, he awoke to find himself surrounded by Indians. He discovered them before he was seen by them; but they were in such numbers that escape was impossible, and he and his charge were captured by them.

The captors were Arapahoes, who were on their way home, whither they carried their prisoners. White Shield was recognized as a Blackfoot brave who was responsible for the death of many of their warriors, and he was reserved for the torture. He succeeded in escaping, and set out, without food or weapons, toward Robinette’s rendezvous, where he hoped to find Silverspur. He had experienced great sufferings and privations, and had eaten nothing but roots for three days previous to meeting his friend.

Wilder could not control his emotion at this recital.

“Is it possible,” he exclaimed, “that I was on the point of shooting you, after you had endured so much for me? You must be starving, and I have been with you nearly an hour, without offering you a morsel to eat!”

He opened his haversack, and spread its contents before his half-famished friend, who devoured them greedily. He gave the Indian his pipe to smoke while he rested, and then forced him to mount his horse, and walked by his side to the rendezvous.

Wilder persuaded White Shield to remain at the rendezvous until his strength was recruited, and furnished him, in the mean time, with a full outfit of clothing, weapons, ammunition and horses. The Indian appeared to be even more anxious than Wilder to recover Flora Robinette from the Arapahoes, and they soon set out in search of her, without informing any one of their purpose.

The young lady was still among the Arapahoes, and that was all that White Shield could say upon the subject with certainty. He had not seen her while he was among them, but did not doubt that she was safe, nor did he believe that she had suffered any harm.

Wilder and his friend crossed the mountains at the South Pass, and struck out in a southerly direction. After passing the Republican Fork of the Platte, they found themselves in the heart of the country claimed by the Arapahoes.

White Shield took his companion in a direct course to the village to which he had been carried as a prisoner, but discovered, upon his arrival at the place where it had stood, that it had recently been removed. Following the lodge-pole trail, which was plain enough, they found the village in its new location, near the base of the mountains.

At nightfall the two friends prepared to reconnoiter, for the purpose of discovering the whereabouts of Flora Robinette. It was arranged that White Shield should disguise himself and enter the village, where he should saunter about and mix with the Arapahoes as much as possible, while Silverspur remained and awaited his return, at the place where their horses were concealed.

The Indian threw his blanket over his head, and walked boldly toward the village, leaving Wilder to wait and watch. The night was dark, quite favorable to the purposes of the spy, and Wilder had no doubt that he would soon see him returning in safety, whether he made any discovery or not. But hours passed away; the night grew darker, until it was so black that the outlines of the neighboring trees could scarcely be discerned, and the young man became anxious and impatient. Notwithstanding White Shield’s experience and reputation as a woodman and warrior, it was possible that he might have lost his way in endeavoring to return to his friend, or that he might have been discovered and captured by the Arapahoes.

At last Wilder heard a rustling in the timber. He bent forward and listened, striving to look through the darkness, but not doubting that it was his friend who was approaching.

The noise ceased, and again it commenced; but it did not seem to draw any nearer. It might be some animal scratching among the leaves, or it might be White Shield feeling his way in the darkness. Wilder thought it best to try to find out what it really was.

“Is that you, White Shield?” he asked, in a whisper.

In reply, he was startled by the growling of an Indian dog, and the next instant the animal came running up to him, barking most vociferously.

“Confound this noisy little pest!” he exclaimed. “I must put a stop to his racket, or he will bring the red-skins on me.”

He aimed a blow at the brute with the butt of his rifle, but missed it, and the dog ran toward the village, and then ran back, barking as spitefully and as loud as it could.

Wilder knew well that he would be compelled to change his location; but he greatly disliked to do so before the return of White Shield, as they would then be separated, and might not be able to come together again. He had no doubt that the noise would be heard at the village, and that the Indians, knowing from the dog’s manner of barking that it had not started any game, would sally out to see what was the matter. In that event he would be compelled to fly; but he hoped that White Shield might arrive before that step should become necessary.

Soon he heard steps approaching, and an Indian speaking to the dog.

“It is only one,” thought Wilder, and he decided that he could easily put that one out of the way, and might then wait a little longer for his friend. He concealed himself, therefore, behind the trunk of a large tree, confident that the dog would bring the Indian to him.

So it happened. The Indian followed the dog to the tree, which he approached, cautiously at first, and then boldly, having convinced himself that the dog had only discovered some animal, which had taken refuge there. As soon as he was near enough, Wilder stepped out, and struck at him with his knife.

In the darkness the blow was badly aimed. It made a mortal wound; but the Arapaho had strength enough before he fell to clinch his adversary, and to utter a piercing yell. Wilder hastened to give him his death-blow; but the mischief was done, and the dog ran toward the village, barking more violently than ever.

It was time to be gone. With a muttered imprecation on his bad luck and on the miserable dog, Wilder hastened to his horse, cast loose the hopple, and sprung upon his back. He was none too soon. Already the air resounded with the shouts of the Arapahoes, and he could hear them hastening through the forest toward the point from which the yells had proceeded. He spurred his horse and rode rapidly away from the voices, with the villainous dog close at his heels.

The timber was so close, the darkness was so dense, and the overhanging boughs were so troublesome, that Wilder did not make such progress as he wished to make, and he knew that his pursuers were gaining on him. The dog would keep them on the trail, in spite of the darkness, and it was evident that they must overtake him, unless fortune should favor him in some way.

It was with great joy, therefore, that he emerged from the forest, and found himself on a level plain, unbroken by tree or shrub. The dog was still barking at his heels; but he felt that he could now easily distance his pursuers, and with a shout of triumph, he gave his horse the spur, and galloped furiously away.

He had kept up this headlong pace but a few minutes, when his horse suddenly stopped, with his fore feet planted on the verge of a precipice, and stood still as a stone, trembling all over with fear.

Wilder, carried on by the momentum which he had acquired from the rapid motion of his horse, did not participate in this sudden stoppage, but was thrown violently forward over the head of the animal. He felt himself falling swiftly through the air; then his breath left him, and he knew no more.