Guy took the letter, but he could not see any writing on it. On the extreme left was an arrow furnished with wings, and a little further to the right was a hand with the forefinger extended as if beckoning to the arrow to hasten his coming. On the right, and a little below this beckoning hand, was an Indian tepee with a buffalo grazing beside it. Although the drawing was evidently done by an unpracticed hand, it was so plain that anybody could tell what it was. With the aid of a few colored pencils, which the drawer had begged or borrowed from the officers of the Fort, he had made the characters of different tints, so that they resembled nature in a wonderful degree. Some distance lower down and plainly a different picture was a bow and a quiver of arrows which another hand was extending toward Winged Arrow, and further back of it was a riderless horse with his mane and tail flying in the wind.
"My father drew all that, and it is just as plain to me as daylight," said the Indian, who was closely watching the young officer's face.
"There is something red descending from that hand," said Guy. "What is it intended to represent?"
"That tells about the massacre that is coming, and he wants me here to take part in it," replied Winged Arrow.
"And are you going to do it?"
"I shall probably be in it, but the bullet from my rifle will not kill any paleface," said the savage. "That much Indian has been washed out of me. I can't do it."
"Bully for you," said Guy, riding his horse up closer to Winged Arrow and thrusting out his hand to him. "I bet you—"
"You must not shake hands with me," exclaimed the Indian, drawing back. "There are too many on the watch."
"Do you pretend to say that there are some Indians watching me now?" exclaimed Guy.