Before starting, men had ridden out on the prairie in every direction, and returned with the announcement that nothing could be heard of the Blackfeet, and all pressed forward with the greatest vigor and determination.
With the passing of the immediate danger, the thoughts of the strange woman who had befriended them returned to Fred Hammond. He felt a powerful interest in her, and, as he was riding beside the guide of the company, he turned to him rather abruptly, and asked:
“Have you ever heard of Lamora?”
“Heard of her?” repeated the latter, in surprise; “wasn’t I telling you all about her the other day?”
“So you were; I was sure I had heard her name before, but I could not recollect from whom. Who is she?”
“She is a white girl, living with a tribe of Indians, somewhere up north of us, and she has done many such things as this for the white people crossing the plains. I have heard of her for years as doing the same thing.”
“What kind of a looking person is she?”
“Just the handsomest creature that ever lived! Wait till you get a good look at her.”
Hammond was not long in finding that their guide knew very little more regarding her than he had already told, although he gossiped and chatted about her until daylight.
When light at last broke over the prairie, many eyes were cast anxiously backward, but not a sign of the Indians was visible. The warning of Lamora had saved them!