“What was that?” asked Joseph.
“The Swallow.”
“I certainly did,” exclaimed Joseph warmly. “I think I’ll go see if he is all right. I’d hate to have him stolen at this late date.”
“We’ll all go,” said Mason. “The fight is over and we might as well leave. Where’s Deerfoot?”
“He here,” replied a familiar voice as Deerfoot appeared from behind a large clump of willows. He had an expression of grim satisfaction on his face and at his belt hung three new scalps. The boys could not repress a feeling of disgust as they saw these bloody trophies. They had witnessed a great deal of killing and seen much gore in the past few weeks, but instead of becoming accustomed to it, they were thoroughly sick of it all.
“Where’s Black Hawk?” demanded Robert of Deerfoot. “Did you capture or kill him?”
“Black Hawk run away,” replied Deerfoot.
“If he is still at large we may have trouble yet,” remarked Mason somewhat anxiously. “He is a very smart man and may be able to collect more braves and come back for revenge some time.”
“Don’t you think he realizes that it is hopeless to resist?” asked Joseph.
“I don’t know,” said Mason, shaking his head. “I have a feeling that we are always going to have trouble until he is put out of the way. I wish someone would capture him.”