“And Early Morn?”
“Yes,” grunted the savage.
“What does he say?” asked Clark.
“There is a white woman and her daughter in a village, there,” said Erskine, pointing in the direction of the smoke.
Clark’s voice was announcing the fact to his men. Hastily he selected twenty. “See that no harm comes to them,” he cried, and dashed forward. Erskine in advance saw Black Wolf and a few bucks covering the retreat of some fleeing women. They made a feeble resistance of a volley and they too turned to flee. A white woman emerged from a tent and with great dignity stood, peering with dim eyes. To Clark’s amazement Erskine rushed forward and took her in his arms. A moment later Erskine cried:
“My sister, where is she?”
The white woman’s trembling lips opened, but before she could answer, a harsh, angry voice broke in haughtily, and Erskine turned to see Black Wolf stalking in, a prisoner between two stalwart woodsmen.
“Early Morn is Black Wolf’s squaw. She is gone—” He waved one hand toward the forest.
The insolence of the savage angered Clark, and not understanding what he said, he asked angrily:
“Who is this fellow?”