The Mohegan had come with one party of Dacotah, while Frontin led another, sent by the Star Woman to meet Perrot and Crawford. Sighting the glow of Maclish’s fire on the sky, the Mohegan had left his party to investigate. There had been no time to return and get the Dacotah—therefore he had acted after his own fashion. Now, rising, the chief collected the trophies which were his. One Stone Man had fallen to his musket, two to his knife. When he came to the groaning warrior whom Crawford had gripped, he calmly added the fourth scalp to his belt. Then he limped back.
“Ready! My brother’s medicine is very strong. Where is Metaminens?”
Crawford rose, steadied himself under the giddy swirl of pain.
“I left him with Black Kettle and came on—they are behind the Assiniboines. He is well, but too weak to travel.”
Crawford broke off in curses at thought of how Maclish had escaped him. Hopeless abandon came upon him, and with every movement sending fresh torture through his body, he made a brief gesture to the redskin.
“Leave me. Go on by yourself. No use trying to get away.”
Le Talon, in one fierce glance, comprehended the situation. He smiled grimly.
“Very well, my brother shall see that a chief of the Loup nation does not fear to die with him.”
“Plague take you!” Crawford laughed suddenly. “Lead the way, Sagamore, and I’ll follow. You’re right; I’ll not whine like a sick dog because my hide is sore. After all, I have the Star of Dreams again!”
The chief picked up a musket, used it as a staff, and set out into the darkness.