It was scarcely daylight the next morning when the two Crows started. Flying Arrow watched the ground closely as he rode along. They had not gone far when he dismounted. When Bent Arrow dismounted to join his uncle, he saw the hoofmarks of several horses.
“The Sioux went to the river to water their horses,” Flying Arrow explained, pointing to the tracks.
“Did they cross the river?” Bent Arrow asked anxiously, thinking that the Sioux might have circled back and attacked the Crow hunting camp.
“Probably not,” Flying Arrow answered. “I’m sure we’ll find their trail a little farther on.”
Flying Arrow started ahead, leading his horse. Bent Arrow followed him. They had gone only a short distance when they came upon the Sioux trail leading from the river.
“It is as I expected,” Flying Arrow said. “The Sioux camped by the river. It looks as though they have given up their plan to raid our camp.”
“Are they on their way to the Sioux winter camp?” Bent Arrow asked.
“I think they are going farther toward the land of the rising sun,” Flying Arrow answered. “Probably they want to hunt before they go to winter camp.”
He studied the trail carefully. Bent Arrow, too, looked at the many tracks. He tried to judge how many warriors were in the hunting party. From the tracks, he decided there had been about as many Sioux as he and Flying Arrow together had fingers.
“There were about this many warriors,” Flying Arrow said, holding up both hands with his fingers spread.