“Do you wish to leave me?” he asked.
“I wish you could go with me.”
“I must stay with my people,” said the Indian boy. “But you—if you wish to go, you can go.”
“Your father will be angry,” said Tom, but his face was lighted up with new hope.
“I will tell my father that I was willing you should go. Look yonder! Do you see a line of men and horses winding through the valley?”
“Yes.”
“They are your people. Go and join them, and forget Miantonimo,” said the Indian boy in sad, reproachful accents.
“I will never forget Miantonimo, but I shall be glad to join the party.”
He brought his horse alongside his companion’s, grasped his hand long and cordially, and then turning, galloped away.
The Indian boy watched him, sitting motionless upon his horse, with a sad and wistful look, and then rode slowly back to rejoin his tribe.