Dead Shot; Or, The White Vulture: A Romance of the Yellowstone

by Albert W. Aiken

“What on earth have they done with the little gal? I can’t see her anywhar. Can the red-skins have murdered her?” and used as the “Crow-Killer” was to scenes of blood, he shuddered when he thought of Leona lying dead on the prairie and the beautiful red-gold hair hanging at the belt of some savage chief as a trophy of victory.

The pipe was passed around, and when it had completed the circle, the old warrior, the uncle of the “White Vulture,” who was called the “Thunder-Cloud,” spoke.

“My brothers are in council; their hearts are brave like the great white bear; their tongues are straight as the arrow. Will the chiefs of the Crow nation attack the white wagons again, or will they go to their lodges in the great mountains?”

Then up rose a brawny savage, hideously streaked with black paint. It was the same Indian who had, on the previous night, captured the hapless Leona. He was known among the Crows as the “Black Dog.”

It was very evident to the scout, from “Black Dog’s” speech, that he was a rival of the “White Vulture.”

The “Black Dog” advocated an immediate descent upon the train—declared that the whites were whipped and would fly before another attack—in a covert way insinuated that the chiefs in favor of returning home were cowards—a course which gained the “Black Dog” no friends, but made him enemies, for the majority of the Crows were fully satisfied that the emigrants, headed by the dreaded “Crow-Killer,” were more than a match for them.

Then the “White Vulture” spoke.

“My brothers,” he said, “have listened to the words of the ‘Black Dog’; he has said that some of the hearts of the Crow chiefs were white—that they feared the pale-faces. My brother, the ‘Black Dog,’ is a great warrior, a great chief,” and the lip of the “White Vulture” curled in scorn. “While the other chiefs of the Crow nation can show wounds from the fight with the white wagons, my brother, the ‘Black Dog,’ can show none. He has no wounds, but he has a pale-face squaw, that he took in single fight. My brother is a mighty warrior.”

It was evident that all the chiefs sided with the “White Vulture,” as a sneer was upon every lip. The “Black Dog’s” brows were dark with rage. In a voice trembling with suppressed passion he answered the “White Vulture.”