Without speaking of his intention to Old Blaze, who would not have allowed him to move, he crawled out of the lodge in which he had been lying, saddled a horse, mounted, and rode forward to the breastwork, where the Crows were preparing to charge upon their adversaries.
The charge was made before he reached the forest. The Arapahoes discovered, as they began to fall from their horses, that they were attacked in the rear, and were thrown into confusion. The Crows and their white allies took advantage of this moment to sally out and fall upon their foes. As they were comparatively fresh, both men and horses, while the Arapahoes were wearied by their repeated assaults, the movement was a complete success.
Silverspur, hardly able to sit on his horse, soon perceived that it would be useless for him to attempt to overtake the charging party, and he took his station upon an eminence, from which he could have a good view of the surrounding country.
He saw that the Arapahoes were already broken, and were flying in all directions, hotly pursued by their vindictive antagonists. He looked in every quarter for Dove-eye; but his head was so dizzy, and his eyes were so dim, that he was unable to see far, and he was about to move away, when a warrior came galloping up the slope toward him. As the warrior approached, he perceived that it was a woman. A moment more, and he recognized Dove-eye.
She was beautiful indeed. Silverspur thought that he had never seen any wild thing that was half so lovely, and it did not detract from her beauty and grace that she was riding man-fashion, as a warrior must. She was richly attired in the Indian style; her head was crowned with a plume of painted feathers, and her saddle was a panther’s skin. She rode a splendid coal-black horse, and carried a battle-ax in her right hand. Her hair, unlike the coarse and straight locks of the rest of her tribe, was wavy and inclined to curl; her complexion was a rich olive, instead of copper-color, and she had not the high cheek-bones peculiar to the Indian race. With her cheeks guiltless of paint, glowing with excitement, and her eyes flashing fire, she was beautiful indeed.
Silverspur urged his horse toward her as she rode up the slope, and called her by name; but she whirled her battle-ax in the air, and launched it full at his head. As he dodged to avoid the missile his small remnant of strength deserted him, and he fell from his horse to the ground. When he recovered himself, the warrior was out of hearing.
Picking up the battle-ax, he slowly walked back up to camp, whither his horse had preceded him.
The Crows came in loaded with scalps and full of joy. Although they had lost a number of warriors, they had a grand scalp-dance, in which the women participated most heartily. Silverspur and Old Blaze did not join the dance, but conversed of Dove-eye and of her part in the battle.
“She fit like a tiger,” said the trapper. “It’s my opeenyun that she’s got a partic’lar spite ag’inst the Crows, judgin’ by the way she pitched into ’em.”
“It is sad to think that she should have taken up the battle-ax and become so bloodthirsty.”