“My brother is silent. Have the words of the ‘Thunder-Cloud’ taken away his tongue? Let the ‘Crow-Killer’ listen again. When the light comes over the big river, the ‘Thunder-Cloud’ will come back, and the knife of the Crow chief will drink the blood of the ‘Crow-Killer.’ The chief has said; it is good.” Saying which, the Indian stalked from the lodge.
In a few minutes Dave was brought back by the two guards, and again placed within the hut; then the Indians withdrew and laid themselves down before the door.
The “Crow-Killer” repeated the story of the “Thunder-Cloud” to Dave; the mystery of the birth of the young guide was all made plain, as well as the wonderful resemblance between him and the “White Vulture”; they were brothers!
“Wal, it’s fate,” finally exclaimed Abe; “I don’t rebel ag’in’ it. I confess, though, I’d like to have a chance to tell the Crows what I think about ’em afore I die. It kinder makes me feel proud to think, too, that a son of mine is their great chief. Blood will tell; the white blood, my blood, has made him what he is—the biggest fighting-man in all the Crow nation.”
“We have not many hours before us,” said Dave.
“No, our time is ’bout up; the old chief don’t dare to let us die in public, now that we know this secret. He’ll probably send the Indians that guard the lodge away on some pretense, an’ then quietly finish us.”
And so we’ll leave the two guides to their reflections and return to Leona. The poor girl was in despair; she thought to herself that she alone was to blame for the danger of her lover, for, if it had not been for her, he would never have come, and would have escaped the certain death that now awaited him.
“Oh!” she cried, in agony, “why did I ever see him—why should I cost him his life?”
Some time had passed since the Indians had removed the two guides from the lodge; she dreaded every moment lest she should hear the sounds that would announce to her the death of her lover; but, the Indian village was still as death.
Suddenly the poor girl heard the sound of footsteps approaching the lodge; ’twas but a single man; the skin of the doorway was presently pushed aside, and the tall form of the “White Vulture” stood before the helpless maid. In terror she gazed upon the Indian; by the dim light of the flickering fire she could distinguish his features, now utterly divested of paint, and for the first time she noticed the wonderful resemblance that the Indian chief bore to her lover.