The two scouts had taken up a position in a thicket, on one of the hills overlooking the Crow village, and distant from it about a half a mile. From their post they could see all that passed in the Indian town.
From the strict watch kept around one of the lodges apart from the rest in the northern section of the village, and from the fact that the “White Vulture” seemed to be the only chief that visited it, the “Crow-Killer” came to the conclusion that Leona was there confined.
The Indians had celebrated their capture of the fur-wagons in their usual manner, and it was evident that with the furs they had also captured some “fire-water,” for half the braves were crazy drunk, and several murderous affrays already had taken place between the drunken savages. It had required all the efforts of the “White Vulture” and the older chiefs to prevent a general fight taking place.
“Well, Abe,” said Dave, as the evening of the third day drew on, “have you devised any plan yet, so that we can penetrate into the village and at least make an attempt to rescue my poor Leona?”
“Go easy, Dave,” said the “Crow-Killer,” in his usual calm way; “I ain’t a-goin’ only to attempt to rescue the little gal, but I’m a-goin’ to do it—that is if Heaven is willin’, an’ I don’t know why it shouldn’t be, when the object is so good. If you’ve noticed, the ‘White Vulture,’ jist ’bout dusk, generally walks along past the lodge—where I think the little gal is—an’ goes into the woods beyond it. I s’pose he likes to get away from the rest of the drunken crowd. Now, my idea is, we’ll leave this ambush, steal down an’ hide in the thicket jist beyond the lone lodge; when the ‘White Vulture’ comes into the thicket, we’ll jump upon, gag and bind him, taking care not to let him cry out; then we’ll strip him of his toggery, an’ you put it on. You look so much like him, now that he’s got the war-paint off, that with a little red daubed on your face—an’ we’ll be apt to find that in his pouch—none of the red devils will detect you. Then I’ll put on his blanket, which will hide me, fix my face up a leetle, and we’ll walk bold as can be, right into the camp. You shall walk right into the hut; I’ll foller you; the braves at the door will take you for the ‘White Vulture’ an’ they won’t say nary word. When he goes within the lodge, I notice the guards always go away, and so we’ll have the coast clear. We’ll not wait, but take the gal and break for our horses. The Crows won’t be apt to discover that thar’s any thing wrong, for an hour or two, an’ by that time we’ll be in the saddle, goin’ down the Missouri like lightning, how’s that?”
“Excellent!” cried Dave. “It can not fail!”
“Don’t be too sure. I’ve seen the best laid plans fail; thar’s a good deal in luck, arter all,” said the “Crow-Killer,” sagely.
Cautiously the two left their ambush, and by a circuitous route, gained the timber on the north of the village.
A little path from the open glade, wherein the huts were located, into the thicket, went some thirty or forty feet and there stopped, as though the person or persons that made it had been in the habit of going so far and no further.