“May I ask your name?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, and then the female answered:
“I am Lamora; and I speak the truth.”
“We do not doubt it,” responded the amazed Hammond. “What is it you have to say?”
“A thousand Blackfeet warriors are coming down on this grove, two or three hours before sunrise, and if you remain, there will not be one who will escape alive.”
“What shall we do?”
“Make ready as soon as possible and start westward. Let there not be a moment’s delay, and you will be saved.”
“But they can follow us to-morrow, (if not to-night,) and attack us by daylight.”
“They can, but they will not,” replied Lamora, with the greatest earnestness. “This is a great war-party on their way southward to fight the Cheyennes. They are to meet a long ways off to-morrow; the Blackfeet have given themselves just enough time to massacre you and your friends, if you remain in this grove, as they expect you will; but if they come here and do not find you, they will have no time to follow up your wagons, and thus, you see, if you improve your time, you will be saved.”
“Beers,” said Hammond, turning to the man beside him, “rouse the men and have this thing done without a moment’s lost time, while I make a few more inquiries of our unknown friend.”