"Clo-ke-ta knows it."
"The red man might run away, by himself. Who would call him a coward?"
"His tribe would—"
She commenced thus, indignantly. Then she saw the error she was committing, and broke short off, as I continued:
"Without those who are with him can fly too, the white brave must remain."
A single sharp wail of grief rose from her lips. As it did so, I threw myself upon the ground and speedily commenced crawling back as rapidly as I could, to the camp.
Such a cry was enough to arouse every sleeping Bannock who might be within earshot of her, and quicken them to my presence.
One glance I cast upon her, before the darkness blotted her out from my sight. She was standing erect and motionless, and it appeared to me that she made a gesture with one of her arms as if to quicken my movements. There was no need for her to do so. The necessity for my reaching my friends was too obvious. Unless I was detected, she would be safe.
Already I had covered half the distance between the place, where I had paused with her, and our camp, when I rested for a moment. It was an almost compulsory pause. The speed with which my retreat had been commenced, and the position in which it had been made, had for the moment taken away my breath. There was now also, in the darkness, no absolute necessity for my continuing my creeping posture. I had, therefore, half risen to my feet, when I caught the rapid sound of Indian footsteps. A red-skin was behind me.
Remaining upon my knee, I drew my knife, and listened. There was, evidently, only one who had disbelieved what Clo-ke-ta might have said. Possibly, although this is very unlikely, one only may have been awakened by her wail.