"I cannot blame you, sir, under the circumstances, for my words implied as much. But here is the spot where I was ambushed two years ago, and those whitened bones you see are those of my poor horse, Dandy, whom I loved more dearly than I ever yet have learned to love a man," and she cast a quick, searching glance into the face of the handsome officer, whose deeds of daring and strange history were the talk around many a border hearth-stone and camp-fire.
What Jennie Bernard had told Kit was a cause of great uneasiness to him, for he knew that the Red Hatchet wielded immense influence with the young braves of his tribe, and was fermenting trouble, hoping to win fame for himself, for there is a wondrous amount of ambition, conceit, and pride in an Indian's nature, equal to that among some of our own pale-face warriors.
A week he might wait, to keep his faith with the young girl, whose gratitude to him he had mistaken for love; but then if aught occurred to precipitate trouble between the Indians and the settlers or soldiers, Red Hatchet would at once act without regard to the time given the girl.
"Miss Bernard, your father must at once leave his home, going to the nearest point with his family and belongings where protection is assured," said Kit.
"It should be so, Lieutenant Carey; but my father will never leave his home," she answered, in a decided way.
"He must."
"But he never will, for he says that the Sioux will never harm him or those belonging to him," was the surprising answer of Jennie Bernard.