"I know that. But I want you to live. Here, take the horse and go. I know you can make——"
Dave did not finish, for just then a wild yelling came from a distance, followed by several shots. The soldiers and settlers turned their faces in that direction, to learn what the new alarm could mean. It was the opportunity that White Buffalo needed and he realized it as fully as did Dave.
"Quick, the horse!" whispered the youth, and turned the steed around. In a twinkling White Buffalo was up in the saddle. The animal gave a bound, and like a flash disappeared around a bend of the forest trail.
"The Injun is escaping!" roared one of the settlers, and fired his rifle at the retreating red man. But his aim was poor and the bullet merely clipped through the branches of the trees.
One or two wished to follow White Buffalo, but it was realized that to do so on foot would be useless.
"You're out your horse," said one settler to Dave, and winked his eye suggestively. He had been in favor of giving White Buffalo a chance for his life.
"I don't care," answered Dave, calmly. "I'm sure he was not guilty and I am glad he got away."
"You wouldn't say that if some of your own folks had been massacred," grumbled the man who had lost his son.
There was no time to say more, for the yelling at a distance was increasing. The party moved off in that direction, taking Grace Chowith with them. Later on the poor young woman was removed to the home of some relatives in Philadelphia, and placed under the care of a medical expert, when her reason gradually returned to her.
It was learned that the yelling was due to a party of Indians who were somewhat intoxicated, having stolen a keg of rum from a trading-post half a mile away. The Indians attempted to fight the settlers and soldiers when they appeared, and as a result six were shot down, two dying at once and one on the day following.