“He came from the direction where our hunting party was camped,” Bent Arrow answered worriedly.
Flying Arrow studied the trail left by the one rider. Then he turned his attention to the trail left by the Sioux party as they rode on. He pointed out to Bent Arrow that the scout had stayed with the main party.
“He may have brought back news that our hunting party had moved on,” Flying Arrow said. “The Sioux didn’t turn aside. Let’s hurry. We want to follow as far as possible before dark.”
Flying Arrow motioned for Bent Arrow to travel at his side. They had gone only a short distance when both of them stopped as though halted by an invisible fence. The Sioux trail turned sharply to the west.
“They went that way because it’s easier traveling,” Flying Arrow said. “I think I know where they are camped. We’ll take a shorter route.”
Bent Arrow wanted to protest. Perhaps Flying Arrow’s reading of the trail had been wrong. Yet Flying Arrow was following so confidently the diagonal course he had set that Bent Arrow’s doubts began to fade.
The light dimmed rapidly. Even after darkness had blanketed the prairie, Flying Arrow kept up his rapid, sure pace. Several times Bent Arrow reached inside his shirt and felt of the eagle feather. Each time he did, his confidence mounted. In the last two days he had traveled as far as a warrior could have gone, and his leg wasn’t hurting at all. Clawing Bear’s prophecy that an eagle feather would complete the cure had come true. His prophecy that it would protect Bent Arrow from the Sioux would surely be equally true.
At last Flying Arrow called a halt.
“The Sioux were not traveling fast,” he said. “We are near their camp. We’ll rest a while before we try to make a raid.”
Bent Arrow looked at his uncle in surprised wonder. Flying Arrow seemed as sure of the Sioux camping place as if he had seen them there.