"Perhaps the Cheyennes will take us for Pawnees, and kill us," Little Raven told him.
"When we get close we will call out and tell them who we are," replied White Otter.
They advanced directly toward the timber. There was not a sound. The silence aroused their suspicions. Were the Pawnees, too, advancing toward the grove? They wondered if a company of those crafty foes had dismounted, and were creeping quietly forward under cover of the darkness. Alert to catch the slightest sound, the three daring scouts moved on. When they were near the timber they stopped. They felt sure that the Cheyennes were watching at the edge of the grove. They believed that it would be perilous to go nearer without warning them. Still they feared to call. They listened for sounds from their friends. The grove was silent.
"Stay here with the ponies," White Otter whispered. "I will crawl ahead, and find our friends. If the Pawnees come, ride to the trees."
He left his pony with Sun Bird, and disappeared into the shadows. Realizing that the Cheyennes might take him for a foe, he feared to make the slightest sound. When he was close upon the grove he stopped to listen. The silence continued. White Otter dropped to his hands and knees and crept still nearer. He was within a few bow lengths of the timber. Each moment he expected to hear the subdued murmur of voices, or the restless stamping of ponies. He heard neither. The stillness puzzled him.
"Ho, Cheyennes, I am a Dacotah," he called, softly. "I have come to help you."
He waited in great suspense. There was no reply. Had the Cheyennes failed to hear him? Were they unfamiliar with his words? He knew that many of the Cheyennes understood and spoke the Dacotah dialect. He crept forward until he was within leaping distance of the trees. Then he repeated his message. Again it went unanswered.
"It is mysterious," he murmured, uneasily.
While he waited, the cry of the timber wolf sounded across the plain. It made him impatient. He feared that the Pawnees were preparing to charge upon the grove. His fears were strengthened a moment afterward when the cry was repeated from another part of the plain. Twice more it rang ominously through the night; each time from a different direction. White Otter believed that the Pawnees were ready to advance. There was no time for further caution. He rose, and ran recklessly to the edge of the timber.
"Cheyennes, I am a Dacotah, hold your arrows!" he cried.