Wilder knew, as soon as they entered the cave, that the Indian girl had not been found. The sorrowful countenance of Flora told him this, and he felt as one who has sustained a great loss.
“You need tell me nothing about it,” he said. “I felt sure that it would be so. She is lost, and here I am, on my back, more helpless than a child.”
“You are not helpless while we are here to help you,” replied Benning. “White Shield and I will do all that any man can do; but we can stay here no longer. The Crows are anxious to leave, and we will only have time to make a litter to carry you in.”
“Never mind me. Leave me here. I am of no use to myself or any one else, and I may as well die here as elsewhere.”
“You must go with us,” protested Flora. “Do you suppose I could think of leaving you here to die—you, who saved me from the Blackfeet, and who have been so kind to me? You will soon get well if you go with us, and you would be sure to perish here.”
“I have no wish to go. I had rather be left here. Dove-eye will return when you are gone, and I will see her.”
Flora looked appealingly at White Shield.
“Silverspur must go,” said the Blackfoot. “The Great Spirit has taken away his mind. We will carry him.”
White Shield and Benning went out, and soon constructed a horse-litter, making a bed by stretching a blanket across the poles and piling furs upon it. They then procured the assistance of some Crows to help them lift the invalid.
Wilder protested against the removal; but he was carried out, in spite of his protests, and placed in the litter, to which horses were hitched in front and rear, and the party set out to join the Crows, who were collecting together on the prairie beyond the mountain.