The reinforcement was needed, for the trappers were somewhat worn by the battles and skirmishes of the day. Dave rode out to meet the chief and greeted him warmly.
“My brother has fought well,” said the warrior, reproachfully; “but, why did he not wait for the Blackfeet, who seek revenge upon the Modoc Sioux and their friends?”
“We did not know where you were, chief,” replied Dave; “but we’ll give you fighting enough before we have done with this business, that I tell you. There is the enemy, but if you join us, you must fight as I tell you.”
“Whirlwind is not ashamed to fight under the Beaver Captain,” replied the chief. “He will listen to the words of wisdom.”
“Dismount your men and picket the horses here behind the woods. Five men will do to guard them.”
The order was promptly obeyed, and the Blackfeet advanced on foot. They were an active-looking, stalwart body of men, and Dave was delighted with their appearance.
“We are here,” cried Whirlwind. “Let the Beaver Captain tell us what to do, and we are ready.”
“Good!” replied Dave, adopting the laconic manner of the Indians. “Remember that Short Legs is a prisoner among our enemies, and be careful to do him no harm. Speak to your men and tell them this.”
The chief did so, and then drawing him aside, Dave gave him instructions how to proceed. His plan was to separate the Indians and send them up the hills to drive out the two parties detached by Rafe Norris to guard the flanks of his forces, and then assail them from the cliff, while the trappers attacked the front.
The Indian, pleased with the duty assigned him, quickly separated his men, placing one half under the command of a man whom he could trust, and then, keeping under cover of the strip of woods, marched to the right and left until they reached the confines of the valley, and began to steal up through the dark defiles, climbing from rock to rock, toward the place where the flanking-parties lay.