They again crept forward, and soon found themselves in the rear of the line of huts. They could hear the tread of feet, and the jabber of excited voices, all making a confusion most favorable to their purpose. Not ten feet lay between them and the hut into which had been thrust the Indian girl, when an Indian was dimly seen, coming from the opposite space toward them.
They lay as close to the ground as possible. The savage came on, and the concealed men saw that another followed. Both halted so near, that they might not only have touched the lurking whites, but have seen them by a chance look-down. One lightning glance on the part of the scouts, revealed the odious face of the wretch, Hulet!
“Now, speak,” said the Indian to the renegade. “What has Sly Hate to say that he has not said?”
“This, Heavy Sleep,” replied the other, speaking so as to be heard above the confusion around. “The waters are deep where they pass under the rocks. The roar makes your people afraid.”
“Ugh!” muttered Heavy Sleep, shaking his head. “A bad Manitou keeps council there. What mean?”
“I know a secret about the place, which I learnt from our white enemies by stealth. I will tell you what it is, and then—ha, what, ho!”
By accident the wretch cast his eye down, and noted a dark crouching figure. The next moment it sprung up like lightning, and a knife was buried to the hilt in Hulet’s breast! Heavy Sleep, with a ringing yell, sprung upon Mace, who met him with the same bloody weapon which had sent the renegade to death. The Indian avoided the thrust, however; but before he could seize his adversary, the hatchet of Scarred Eagle crashed through his brain!
“Come!” cried Mace, hoarsely, and he had just turned to flee, as a bevy of Indians burst through between the huts, who, uttering their alarm-cries, sprung after him. In an instant pursued and pursuers were off like the wind.
Scarred Eagle had hesitated a moment too long. Notwithstanding the danger, he could not bring himself to flee. A sudden wild hope, that the confusion might enable him to yet rescue his boy, determined him. And just before the aroused warriors darted from the front in pursuit of Mace, he threw himself flat to the ground close beside the hut.
The excitement and alarm that now prevailed may be imagined. Half a dozen times, in as many seconds, Scarred Eagle was upon the point of springing up, as he imagined he was discovered. Some of the reds, not in pursuit of Mace, almost trod upon him, as they huddled around the bodies of Heavy Sleep and Hulet. In a few moments the victims were carried around to the front, and, watching his opportunity Scarred Eagle nestled more closely to the rear side of the hut. Then, hastily making an aperture, he peered in, and saw the captive Indian girl tightly bound and alone. Something more than a desire to communicate with her caused him to squeeze under the rude tent-cloth and enter. There was a pile of skins in the nearest corner, under which he might secrete himself, and he lost no time in doing so.