The impulse was a brave and noble one, well worthy of the scout, and he turned his horse, resolving to trust to his speed.
A row of angry, painted faces met him, but he charged through their ranks, shooting two Indians as he went.
Then he became aware that another horse was close beside his, and turning in his saddle he beheld Snowdrop, who had followed him, and was now close by his side.
"Come on, girl. Ride for your life!" he shouted, "and keep close to me."
He turned his horse in the direction of the stream, and in a few minutes both horses were dashing through the water, and up the opposite bank. The scout never paused except to see that the Indian girl was safe across, and having satisfied himself on that score he dashed ahead.
Meanwhile the camp of the strangers was the scene of a bloody conflict. The white men were battling desperately for their lives, but they had been surprised, and the scout knew from the rapid and incessant firing, that the battle could not last long.
He halted and listened to the noise of the conflict upon the opposite side of the stream. All at once it ceased, and as he was wondering which party had met with success, there came to his ears a wild, prolonged shout, which was answered by a single yell of defiance.
"That sounds as if them white men had passed in their checks, and the Sioux had won the battle." He looked at Snowdrop as he spoke, and her eyes were looking sorrowfully in his own, as she said:
"My father is a prisoner. He has tried to follow me and the Sioux have found him. Now he must burn."
"I guess not," replied the scout; "but why didn't you stay with him and Jehiel?"