"We can't leave him here, Sam. It wouldn't be fair."
"It's better to leave him here than to take him to the settlement, Dave. Remember, some think he is guilty of that Digly murder."
"Supposing we put him in the bushes, out of sight of the trail," suggested the youth. "We can make him as comfortable as possible. He doesn't seem to be hurt, only exhausted."
This was agreed upon, and they carried the aged Indian chief to a secluded spot where he might rest in security. As they placed him on a bed of moss and leaves, he opened his eyes.
"White Buffalo cannot go on," he said. "Must rest first."
"We were going to place you here," said Dave, "and then go on. You know why we can't take you to the settlement."
"White Buffalo wants not to go to the settlement," was the slow answer. "He will stay here. Go back—ere it is too late."
"Let me bring you some water," said Dave, and ran down to a brook near by. White Buffalo drank eagerly and then fell back on the leaves. He urged them to go on.
"You can do nothing for me," he said. "Go—it is the one wish of my heart that my brothers Sam and Dave shall escape this awful massacre."
A few words more followed, and then the pair hurried away. They looked back and saw that White Buffalo had again sunken into a profound slumber.