“Your party of horsemen is small,” said the Crow, evading the question by looking out the lodge door at the six waiting rangers.
“No, no, chief. I have three hundred others at Ke-gon-sa.”
“Ho, ho!” exclaimed the Winnebago, simulating surprise; although, in truth, his scouts had that very morning brought him word of the march of the rangers from Blue Mounds.
“Do you know the hiding-place of the Hawk?” asked the Colonel, taking a different tack.
“My spies tell, oh Big Knife, that the Sac is lurking in the Koshkonong Swamp.”
“I had heard so. But the swamps of the Koshkonong are very big. It is like hunting for an arrow-head in yonder forest. Can you lead us to the place?”
“The place is known to me, oh Big Knife.”
“But will you take us there, Kaukishkaka? The hour of darkness grows near. I must have your answer.”
“Oh chief of the Big Knives,” responded the Crow, rising majestically to his feet, “your fair words have won my heart. Our friendship will endure forever. When the sun comes again, I will be at your camp, together with two others of my trusted braves. We will lead you to the hiding-place of the accursed Sac.”
“Good!” cried Dodge, his tone one of utmost elation; for his earlier suspicions had vanished from his mind. He was now convinced that the White Crow would be a faithful ally.