He sprung away eagerly and began to clamber up the mountain rapidly, for Whirlwind and two of his chief warriors were already in view. Myrtle did not attempt to fly, but waited calmly the approach of the chief, who dismounted and came forward, starting back in surprise at her great beauty.
“Short Legs’ squaw, eh?” he said, in broken English. “No ’fraid of Whirlwind; he good friend to Short Legs and Beaver Captain.”
“I am not afraid of the great Blackfoot chief,” replied Myrtle, who had been told what to do in case Whirlwind came. “My father has left a message for him.”
“Good; Whirlwind will read it.”
She went into the cabin and came out with two pieces of bark inscribed with strange hieroglyphics. The chief looked at them intently and seemed to understand them.
“It is good; tell Short Legs that Whirlwind will meet him at the place with many braves. Who is the man who goes up mountain; friend, eh?”
Myrtle hesitated, for, bad and cruel as she knew Velveteens to be, she could not find it in her heart to expose him to the tender mercies of the Blackfoot chief. Yet, she did not wish to lie to him, for that was a crime which he would never forgive. She did the best thing under the circumstances—told the truth.
“He was my prisoner, but I have given him liberty, and allowed him to go.”
“Brave man, eh!” said the chief, contemptuously. “Girl take him?”
“If the Blackfeet know a brave of the Sioux who is called Anatole, he can tell whether he is a brave man or not.”