“How can you be sure?” Bent Arrow asked.
“I read the signs of the Sioux trail,” Flying Arrow explained. “I know much about the Sioux, and I know the only good camping place for a large party.”
Flying Arrow had already fixed a comfortable place to rest. Bent Arrow found a clump of tall, dry grass. He curled up in that to sleep.
“I’ll waken you when it’s time to start,” Flying Arrow promised.
It seemed to Bent Arrow that he had hardly fallen asleep when he was roused by his uncle.
“We’ll make our plans before we start,” Flying Arrow said.
Flying Arrow carefully described the place where the Sioux were camped. It was a rather small valley. There was a narrow entrance at the south end, but the rest of the valley was ringed in with steep hills. It wasn’t impossible for horses to get up the hills, but it was difficult and dangerous. There were a spring and a few trees near the north side. That was where the Sioux would be camped. Since the Sioux had no idea anyone was pursuing them, they would leave the horses loose to graze over the valley.
“We can slip into the valley, get two horses apiece, and be far from here before the Sioux learn of their loss,” Flying Arrow concluded.
“That is small punishment for the trouble they have caused us,” Bent Arrow pointed out. “We should take all of their horses.”
“It might be possible,” Flying Arrow agreed excitedly. “If you can catch Rock, this is the plan we’ll use. Truly the Sioux will be punished.”