“Then we’ll make the raid,” Flying Arrow decided. “If we don’t, the Sioux will go unpunished.”
Both Bent Arrow and his uncle mounted their horses. They rode across the river, but a short distance on the other side, they dismounted and tied the horses. From here on, they must go on foot.
The air had grown much cooler, and dark clouds were shutting off the little light the stars gave. Yet Flying Arrow walked along as surely as though it were broad daylight. While Bent Arrow was carefully stepping in his uncle’s tracks, he was considering the distance yet to go. He had gone swiftly, and it had taken him a long time to go from the Sioux camping place to the meeting with his uncle. Would they have time to walk to the Sioux camp, take horses, and escape before daybreak?
While Bent Arrow was still worrying about the time that it would take to reach the Sioux camp, Flying Arrow stopped.
“Old-Man-of-the-North is sending his wind at us,” he pointed out. “We would have to circle the Sioux camp and approach it from the south, even if we didn’t want to go there to find the eagle feather.”
“What difference will that make?” Bent Arrow demanded, thinking uneasily of the time they were losing. “The Sioux warriors are not like buffaloes. They can’t catch our scent.”
“Their horses can,” Flying Arrow explained. “With a storm coming, the horses will be restless and uneasy. If they catch a strange scent, they may make enough disturbance to rouse the Sioux camp.”
“I should have thought of that,” Bent Arrow acknowledged.
“It is well to ask questions,” Flying Arrow assured him. “A boy remembers better when he knows why a thing is done.”
Flying Arrow started on. Now they went straight south with the wind at their backs. They were on open ground away from trees, so they could go rapidly. After a time, Flying Arrow turned west. He led the way into a great wide valley. Soon Bent Arrow saw places where buffaloes had been slaughtered, and he knew that they were in the valley where he had seen the Sioux. The Sioux must be camped by the spring across the hills to the north. In the middle of the valley, Flying Arrow turned north and led the way up the dividing hills. Old-Man-of-the-North’s wind was carrying the odor of smoke and cooked meat. There was no doubt but that the Sioux were camped just ahead.