"They are great hunters," Sun Bird told him. "I believe these riders are coming to this ridge to hunt."
"Perhaps they will follow this trail," suggested White Otter. "Perhaps they will go up there where we killed Matohota, to watch for game."
Sun Bird started at the suggestion. It appeared to have offered an interesting possibility. He drew the mysterious arrow from his bowcase, and smiled significantly at White Otter.
"Now I know about this thing," he said. "This arrow came from the Flatheads."
White Otter nodded understandingly.
In the meantime the Flathead scout had reached the base of the ridge and disappeared from their sight. They turned their attention to the company of horsemen who were waiting on the plain. They seemed to be watching for the signal to advance.
"Those people are very cautious," said White Otter.
"Perhaps they are afraid of the Blackfeet," Sun Bird told him.
Then they heard a shout from the base of the ridge, and the horsemen cantered briskly toward the timber. The Sioux realized that it was time to move from the plateau. They believed it would be easy to return to the top of the ridge and escape from their enemies. Sun Bird, however, showed a desire to linger.
"Those look like good ponies," he told White Otter, as his eyes twinkled mischievously. "The Flatheads are our enemies. They have killed some of my people. I feel like taking away some of those ponies."