“He was killed in the scrimmage. The red-skins danced over his scalp and Mr. Robinette’s the night they took us.”
“Mr. Robinette’s?”
“Yes, sir. I was mistooken about its bein’ the Crows who raised the old man’s ha’r. They were Blackfeet who pounced onto us.”
“Did they carry away Miss Flora, or was she killed? Have you heard any thing about her?”
“She was here; but she’s gone now; and that’s why you had sech an easy time whippin’ this village of Blackfeet. Ef it hadn’t been fur her, the job would hev been a leetle tougher, I reckon.”
“How so? What do you mean?”
“I heerd the red-skins torkin’ about it. That white man, Silverspur, kerried her off last night, and one of the red-skins went with him. Leastways, she was missin’, and so war those two men. Thar was a big hullabaloo raised this mornin’, as the head chief had sot his eye on her fur a wife, and they war mad, too, about the red-skin goin’ off with Silverspur. A right smart chance of warriors mounted and rode off arter ’em, and that’s how thar warn’t many in the village when you came.”
“Was she willing to go with that—with Silverspur?”
“How do I know? I reckon she was, as she mought easy enough hev staid here, whar a thousand red-skins wanted to keep her.”
“Of course. I ought not to have asked such a question. When did the warriors start?”