The chief had been gazing a long time at Dove-eye, with an expression of interest that he did not attempt to conceal, and she, without meeting his fixed gaze, had glanced at him, now and then, wonderingly and strangely. He had drawn nearer to her, and his interest increased the longer and the closer he looked at her. At last he spoke, uttering but one word:
“Kate!”
The girl started and turned around quickly. The chief’s arms were extended, and, with a wild cry, she rushed into them.
It was this that interrupted the conversation of Fred and his father, and brought a new element into the scene.
“How is this?” exclaimed Colonel Wilder, turning around, with his eyes open wide. “What is the matter with the chief? You seem to have a rival here, Fred, or something else.”
The young man, who was as much at a loss as his father was, discreetly said nothing.
The chief, who was holding Dove-eye in a close embrace, released her, but held her hand. The Crow warriors were stolidly silent, because it was their custom to betray no emotion. The dragoons were silent, because they had not been ordered to speak, and they sat quietly on their horses, wondering what it all meant. Fred Wilder was silent, because he believed that he had better not speak, and that any turn of affairs could not be for the worse. Old Blaze was silent, because he implicitly believed in Silverspur’s ability to talk himself out of any scrape. Jose was silent, because he understood nothing of what was going on. Bad Eye and the Indian girl were silent, because their emotion had not yet found vent in words.
Colonel Wilder, in fact, was the only noisy man in the party. His anxiety concerning his son, and his curiosity to learn the meaning of this last demonstration, impelled him to ask the chief a multitude of questions, which the latter seemed to be in no hurry to answer.
“Do you remember Paul Robinette?” asked Bad Eye, at last, and speaking in very good English.