“They are Crows. See, Dove-eye; they are coming up the hill toward us. We shall be killed if we remain here. Come; we must seek a hiding-place.”
Seizing the girl by the hand, he hurried her along the plateau, to a rift that led up into the mountain. This they ascended with difficulty, until they reached another level space, covered with clumps of pine and cedar.
“Remain here, my child,” said the old man as he led her into the cover of the trees. “I must go and see what becomes of our people, and what the Crows are doing. Do not stir until I return.”
He was absent fully half an hour, during which time Dove-eye was filled with anxiety. Her friends the Arapahoes were being slaughtered by their merciless foes, and she could still hear from her elevated position the yells and shrieks of the victors and the vanquished. But this was not all. There was a white man below whom she had saved from death at the hands of the Arapahoes, and toward whom her feelings were such as had never before been excited in her breast. She had concealed him in a hole in the cliff and he was lying there, wounded and helpless, an easy prey to any foe who should discover his hiding-place.
When the old man returned, he was greatly excited, and was trembling from fear and exhaustion.
“Come, my child,” he said. “We are not safe here. We must seek another hiding-place. We must go up further into the mountains.”
“Sit down and rest yourself,” replied Dove-eye. “We can not be seen here. You are so tired that you can hardly stand.”
“There is no time for rest. The Crows are everywhere in the hills, searching for our friends who have escaped them. If they see our trail, we will soon be discovered.”
“Where is the white man? Where is Silverspur? I am afraid that they may find him and kill him.”