“Yes, I know you often lose plenty of warriors by your tribal quarrels,” said Henry. “But to get back to where we started from. If I have my say, you shall never suffer so long as I have a roof over my head.”
“When the war is over, I want White Buffalo to go with me to the trading-post on the Kinotah,” put in Dave. “The hunting and fishing there will delight him, I know.”
At this the red man looked grateful.
“David and Henry are indeed my brothers,” he said softly. “White Buffalo shall be their friend to the death,” and he placed the back of the hand of each up to his forehead.
The alarms of the night were not yet at an end. It was still dark, and Dave and Henry, along with White Buffalo, had dropped into a light sleep, when a cry from Gilfoy, who was on guard, awakened them.
“Some wild beast prowling around,” he announced. “Sounds to me like a wildcat.”
“Then I’m going to be on my guard,” said Dave. He had not forgotten how a wildcat had once leaped upon him while he was in bathing.
All in the camp were soon on the alert. Each listened, but could hear nothing but the gurgle of the tiny stream that poured over the rocks at this spot and into the lake.
“Guess you must have been dreaming, Gilfoy,” said Silvers, at length. “Was it another Injun?”
“No, it was no redskin, onless he was climbin’ the trees,” answered the Irish-American soldier.