“Good-by, trailer,” said Red Crest, waving a farewell salute with his red hand. “No burning lodges on the trail that leads to the land of the Evil Spirit. Good-by, bad brother!”
“Good-by, devils!”
Whence came that voice? Or was it but an infernal echo from the shadows overhead?
Instinctively the twain looked into each other’s faces.
Both had heard the startling words.
“Who is up yonder?” queried the white boy.
“No, no! ’tis the voice of the dead Wolf! Come, brother. Red Crest has heard the spirits that speak in the gulches of the Rosebud. They foller him here. If we ride like the storm, they cannot catch us.”
And the next moment the Sioux urged his horse forward, and left his young companion to follow at his leisure.
“Somebody has witnessed the hanging,” he said. “But, never mind! the deed is done, and the villain, who basely attempted my life on the Rosebud, will never lift another knife, or burn another town.”