“White Shield is a true brother,” replied Wilder, as he grasped the hand of his friend. “Silverspur will never forget how his brother stood by him in danger. You tell me that I must be careful what I do; but there is one thing that I must do. I must see the girl, the daughter of the white-haired chief.”
The Indian shook his head, and was silent.
“I must see the girl,” repeated Wilder. “If you will help me, there will be no trouble about it. When I say that I will do a thing, I mean to do it.”
“I have told you that Good Ax means that she shall be his wife, and no one can oppose the head chief. My brother had better be careful what he does.”
“I tell you that I must see her, and I will see her. I only ask to see her and speak with her. If my brother will not help me, I will help myself.”
The Blackfoot sat in silence a few moments, looking strangely at his friend.
“Wait for me,” he said, as he arose and left the lodge.
After the lapse of an hour, White Shield returned, and beckoned to Wilder, who arose and followed him. They passed out of the village, and came to a small stream, on each side of which was a fine growth of timber. Entering the grove, White Shield pointed ahead of him.
“She is there,” he said. “I will wait for you, but will not hear you.”