Near the top of the hill, Flying Arrow got to his hands and knees. Bent Arrow followed his example.
“Are we near the eagle feather?” Flying Arrow asked in a whisper.
“It’s nearer the top of the hill and to our right,” Bent Arrow answered.
The two of them crawled forward and then to the right. Carefully they searched every clump of weeds, but they couldn’t find the feather.
“We can delay no longer,” Flying Arrow whispered. “Perhaps we must punish the Sioux to earn such valuable medicine as the eagle feather.”
He stretched out prone and wriggled toward the top of the hill. Bent Arrow followed his uncle’s example. At the top of the hill they could look down into the Sioux camp. There were no Sioux warriors stirring about, although the campfire glowed brightly.
The Sioux camp had been pitched near the trees. The horses were grazing between the top of the hill and the sleeping warriors. The glow of the campfire gave enough light to make it easier for the raiders to pick the horses they wanted. At the same time, the horses would hide Flying Arrow and his nephew from any watchers in the camp.
Bent Arrow waited as patiently as he could while his uncle studied the camp. At last Flying Arrow nodded confidently.
“We’ll crawl to the herd and pick the two horses that I saw this morning,” he said.
“It will be easy,” Bent Arrow answered.