Quite despondent, the young man sallied out one morning on a hunting-excursion. He went alone, hoping to meet with some excitement that would prevent his mind from brooding over his half-accomplished achievement. He was by no means prepared to abandon the object with which he had left the Blackfeet. On the contrary, he was determined that he would not be so easily outdone, and it was his intention to seek for the missing companions of his flight, to rescue Flora from the Indians, and to punish White Shield for his treachery.
He had poor luck with his hunting that morning, the reason being, probably, that his mind was too much occupied with other matters. Somewhat discouraged, he ascended a hill, from which he could have a good view of the surrounding country, and looked to see whether any game was visible.
In the distance he descried a dark object, slowly moving over the plain. He was sure that it was no four-legged animal, and was soon convinced that it was a man on foot; but he could not tell whether it was an Indian or a white man.
Curious to know who the solitary traveler could be, he descended the hill, and rode toward the object. The man discovered him, and seemed to wish to avoid him; but there was no way of escaping on the prairie, and at last he stopped, waiting the approach of the horseman.
As he drew near to the stranger, Wilder perceived that he was an Indian. Nearer yet, he thought that he discovered a resemblance in his features to those of White Shield. Yes; it must be his red brother; for the Indian recognizes him, and runs eagerly forward to meet him. Wilder is surprised; he can not believe that this is the athletic and fine-looking warrior from whom he lately separated; for the form of White Shield is fearfully emaciated, his eyes are hollow, he is entirely without arms, and the few garments that remain to him hang about him in tatters.
Instead of advancing to meet him, Wilder reined in his horse, and leveled his rifle at the Indian.
“Shall I shoot you now?” he said; “or shall I wait until I hear what you have to say?”
The Blackfoot, who did not attempt to conceal his surprise, advanced no further, but looked steadily at the leveled rifle.
“If my brother wishes to kill me,” he replied, “let him shoot. White Shield is ready to go to the spirit-land.”
“Are you sure that you are ready? Is there nothing you have done that frightens you?”