“You don’t know what you are doing, mad girl. What will your father say when he knows that you have aimed an arrow at my breast—mine, of all white men in the territory!”
“It would be better for Black-Hawk if you had never seen him,” replied the girl. “Take your horse and go, for I will spare your life if you do not touch the Wild Rose; touch her, and you are dead.”
Black Will was a brave man, but he knew well the deadly skill of the Indian girl, and had seen it proved a hundred times in sportive encounters in the Indian village. Though full of rage, he dared not advance.
“But listen to me, Minneoba,” he said. “This girl is to be my wife; I love her, and would take her into my lodge.”
“Let me hear her say that she loves you, and the Sac girl will not come between you. Stand back, or the arrow flies from the string.”
“You shall suffer for this, girl. Black-Hawk shall know how his daughter claims for a friend the daughter of the man who holds his land. We shall see how he likes that.”
“Minneoba can talk to Black-Hawk; she does not need the white hunter to tell her what to say.”
“She’s a bu’ster, Will,” said Dave Garrett, laughing. “I reckon you had better give it up. Come, little girl, don’t be foolish. Get out of the way, for my sake.”
Minneoba did not move, and the arrow was still ready to fly.
“Hark, Will! There come horses. Let’s get out of this as quick as we can.”