When all had seen him, they set out to return to the village, in slow and solemn procession as they had come, leaving Dove-eye alone with the old man. As he usually lay in the trance until noon, and there was time enough, the girl thought that she might as well pay a visit to Flora and Wilder.
She took a parting look at the old man, and was about to leave the lodge when she was startled by a shot from the valley below, followed by a series of wild and unearthly yells. Then came a volley of musket and rifle-shots, with screams of pain and rage; and shouts of triumph and vengeance.
She knew well what it meant. She knew that the Arapahoes had been attacked by a hostile tribe, and she stood irresolute, when the medicine-man, to her great surprise, leaped from his couch, and ran out at the door to see what was the matter.
Dove-eye followed him, and as they looked down into the valley, they stood aghast at the scene which presented itself to their astonished eyes. The Arapahoes, taken at a disadvantage, and mostly unarmed, had been seized with a panic that could not be checked. But few remained to fight, and these were rapidly falling under the weapons of their adversaries. The rest were flying, helter-skelter, in every direction, some up into the hills, some toward the village, and some into the recesses of the ravines, followed by the victorious Crows.
Among those who scampered up the hills was a tall and stalwart warrior, with blood streaming from his head and breast. As he came in sight of the old man and the girl, he warned them to fly, as his pursuers were close behind, and they turned and ran into the lodge.
The warrior did not follow them, but ran on until he came to the cave in which Flora Robinette and Fred Wilder were concealed. He must have known the place, for he went direct to the entrance, although it was hidden by bushes. The painted skin made him hesitate a moment; but he tore it aside and entered the cave.
Flora and Wilder were not a little startled at the sudden entrance of this bleeding and panting savage. The girl screamed, and stepped closer to the invalid, forgetting that he was even more helpless than herself. The Arapaho was also astonished; but the light of vengeance began to gleam in his wild eyes; he could at least have the satisfaction of slaying a pale-face before he died.
Wilder, who divined his intention, put out his unbandaged arm, as if he would shield Flora from violence. At the same time he was cool enough to notice a gray scalp that hung from the Indian’s waist-belt, and he was sure that he knew that scalp. How he longed, in that brief moment, to be free and strong again, instead of lying there, unable to move, compelled to submit to whatever fate the infuriated savage should choose to visit upon him and the almost equally helpless being at his side!
He had little time for reflection. The Arapaho sprung forward and seized the young lady, whom he dragged from the couch. Pulling back her head by the hair, he raised his knife, with threatening look and gesture. Flora sent forth scream upon scream, and Wilder, nearly beside himself with rage, shouted for help at the top of his voice.