It was Silverspur. She knew him now, although he had changed so much since she saved his life and nursed him while he lay wounded and helpless. She joyfully ran forward to meet him, and he advanced no less eagerly.
“Is this really you, Dove-eye?” he asked, speaking in the Dacotah dialect. “I have been searching for you. I have traveled far to find you. How did you happen to come to this place?”
“I came to meet you. I was told that you were here, and I hastened to see you.”
“Who told you?”
“Your friend, Burnt Face.”
“You have seen him, then. Where is he?”
“At the village. He is a prisoner.”
Silverspur was astonished. Old Blaze a prisoner! He would have anticipated any thing sooner than the capture of the veteran hunter, and this misfortune troubled him greatly.
“The Arapahoes will kill him,” he said. “Something must be done. I must save him, if possible, whatever happens.”