"Certainly there are. You have been within reach of two ever since you came over that ridge."
"Then I must go back," said the young officer, who cast anxious glances on all sides of him. "What is the reason they didn't shoot me down or make a prisoner of me? Say! What's your name? You must have had some cognomen besides your Indian name to designate you by when at school."
"My name is John Turner, and the boys called me Winged Arrow because I was so fleet in running foot races. I called myself after the janitor of the school. He was always good to Indians, believed that we have been abused, and said if he were President he would not have permitted things to go on in this way. If he were here now we would do our best to capture him, and after we got him we would send him out of the country."
"But what was your object in selecting ME to warn ME of the massacre? There are plenty of others who, just like myself, do not believe in this business."
"And any one of them would have done just as well. From the day on which you left Fort Robinson in Nebraska—"
"Have you followed us all the way from there?" asked Guy, in surprise.
The Indian nodded his head.
"Why, I should have thought you would have attacked us before this time."
"There were too many of you. An Indian does not like to be killed any better than a white man. Ever since you left that fort I have been watching you—you see I could always tell you by the horse you rode—and I decided that if I could catch you out alone I would tell you of the massacre that is surely coming."
"When is it coming off?"