“’Tis but a scratch,” answered the aged Indian. The cut smarted greatly, but he would not show his pain.
“See here, what do you know about the other Indians around here?” asked Casbury.
“They number thirty,” said White Buffalo, who had learned how to count in English style. “All strong, crafty, and full of the war spirit. White Buffalo’s small band can do but little against them.”
In his own fashion the Indian then told his story in detail, how he and his followers were journeying to a distant village, to try to bring their entire tribe in harmony with each other. They had seen the actions of Moon Eye and his followers while at a distance and come to the conclusion that something unusual was going on. They had come closer and heard the other Indians discuss the subject of an attack on the cave. The followers of Moon Eye intended to wait until daybreak and then try to smoke out those in the place. All the men were to be shot down and scalped, and the woman and the children were to be made captives. This much White Buffalo had learned before going to the rescue of Sam Barringford. What Moon Eye and his men were going to do now, the old chief could not tell.
“What do you think we had best do?” asked Rodney, after the recital had come to an end.
“Escape from the cavern without delay,” answered the aged Indian. “’Tis the only hope. Unless that is accomplished you will surely be shot down like bears coming from a smoke-out.”
“How shall we go?”
“If you will trust yourselves to White Buffalo he will do what he can,” answered the old chief, simply.
Rodney was willing, and some of the others said they would follow the chief, but several of the regulars demurred and so did Malloy the frontiersman.
“I’ll thrust meself to no redskin,” said the Irishman, with a vigorous shake of his head. “I have no desire to wake up in the marnin’ wid me throat cut!”