Something in her manner as she gave the weapon into the owner’s hand, told Jules that this indeed was her lover. He turned pallid as a corpse, and ground his teeth fiercely, but said not a word. That was useless now. He hoped that his day of triumph was not far off.
“Now, sons of the Blackfeet,” said Ben, raising his voice, “ye kin see what kind of a chaince ye’ve got ag’in’ us, with them bows, arrers and spears. I reckon ye mout ez well give it up.”
The Indians drew together and held a conference. This over, they turned their horses’ heads and galloped away to the east. One by one the horses splashed through the river, and they were gone across the broad prairie, toward their camp.
“Penn,” said Jan Schneider, extending his hand, “I’m glad you shumps dat rifer. I pees afrait you gone dere.”
“So was I, Jan, when I see how wide it was. Let’s go an’ measure it. I’m proud of that jump.”
They went back to the stream and measured the distance, and found it to be just twenty-three feet. And the river was nearly as deep.
“Swanzey-dree feet!” roared Jan. “Dere! Some of you peat dat!”
“I can’t,” said Bentley. “What did that Indian say when you jumped? I heard him roar something after you.”
“He said, ‘Good jump; Big Buffalo’—that’s me—‘make very big jump,’” said Ben. “By thunder, he made me laugh so I couldn’t have shot at him. An’ didn’t he light out when I begun to load?”
“’Twas a great jump,” said Bentley. “You ought to be proud of it. What shall we do now?”