“I’m sart’in that she’s in their hands,” he reflected, as the last of the red chiefs disappeared from the little glade and was hid from his eyes by the thicket which cut off his view of the distant prairie to the west. “Now, the best thing I can do is to get back to the wagons as soon as possible. I’ll send Dave on with the train to Montana, and then I’ll trail the red devils an’ try an’ sneak the little gal out of their clutches. That will be no easy matter, I’m afeard; but, thar’s nothin’ like tryin’. I’ve been wanting to go to the Crow nation for a long time; now hyar’s a chance. First, to rescue the little gal; second, to find out ’bout my Injun wife. The sooner I’m off for camp the better.”
Carefully through the timber the guide retraced his steps.
When the “Crow-Killer” reached the glade where he had slain the Crow warrior, he halted for a moment in the timber at its edge.
“’Pears to me,” he said, talking low to himself, as usual, “that the other side of this leetle opening in the timber would be just the place for Dave to ambush himself. I’m downright sorry that I hain’t had a chance to lead a dozen or so of the red devils into his fire, but, what can’t be cured must be endured, as I’ve hearn say. Guess I’ll find out whether Dave’s thar or not.”
Putting his hands to his mouth, Abe gave a short quick bark like a coyote.
In a second the bark was repeated on the other side of the glade from the thicket.
Fearlessly the “Crow-Killer” stepped from the timber into the open space, and as he did so, Dave, rifle in hand, stepped from among the bushes on the opposite side of the glade while behind him appeared some four of the emigrants.
“Are the Indians near?” questioned Dave, as he met the “Crow-Killer” in the center of the little opening and wrung him warmly by the hand.
“Nary Injun,” responded the old hunter. “They’ve taken the back track an’ gone off, bag an’ baggage, for the mountains.”
“And Leona?” anxiously questioned the young guide.