Behind it followed another figure. Molly ran forward as she saw it, and, "Papa, papa!" she cried, "I waited and waited for Barney, and he didn't come; and I couldn't bear for Lula not to have her Christmas present to-night, for I'd promised it to her to-night. She told me, when I promised, that white people always broke their promises to Indians, and I said over and over that I wouldn't break my promise; and I couldn't—I couldn't break it, papa."
"You did quite right, my little daughter,—quite right."
There was something in her father's manner as he said this, a seriousness in his voice and in his eyes, that surprised Molly. She was still more surprised when the Indian suddenly said,—
"She little brave; she come all 'way 'lone to keep promise, so she not hurt my Wallula. She make me believe more good in white peoples; so I go to fort,—I keep friends."
"You've been a friend indeed. I sha'n't forget it; we'll none of us forget it, Washo," said Captain Elliston; and he put out his hand as he spoke, and grasped the brown hand of the Indian in a warm friendly clasp.
At the fort everything was literally "up in arms,"—that is, set in order for business, and that meant ready for resistance or attack. Molly had lived most of her fourteen years at some Western military post, and she recognized at once this "order" as she rode in.
"What did it mean?" she asked again, as the Colonel himself met her and hurried her into the dining-room; and the Colonel himself answered her,—
"It means, my dear, that Major Molly has saved us from being surprised by the enemy, and that means that she has saved us from a bloody fight."
"I—I—" faltered Molly. Then like a flash her mind cleared, and she struck her little hand on the table and cried,—
"It was an Indian, an unfriendly Indian, who followed me, and Washo knew it when I told my story!"