He was on his feet, his dark face burning with anger, when a handful of red pepper was hurled at his face. As he staggered back, he was thrown upon the couch of skins from which he had arisen, and a robe was drawn tightly about his head.
Shortly after this occurrence the false Crow-killer walked out of the tepee, and, accosting a Navaho, said: “Raven Feather sleeps. Let him not be disturbed. He has left his affairs in the hands of Crow-killer. Where has the white maiden been placed? Crow-killer must see her in order that he may report when Raven Feather awakes from his sleep.”
The answer was like a blow in the face: “The white maiden is dead.”
CHAPTER VII.
A CUNNING VILLAIN’S PLAY.
“Yes, the white maiden is dead,” repeated the Navaho. “Did not Raven Feather so say to his brother?”
Buffalo Bill was speechless. The news was so astounding that for the moment he was incapable of sustaining his assumed character. As he stood staring at the Navaho, there emerged from a tepee a few rods below him a squat, grotesque figure, carrying a torch. He was followed by three squaws, who set up a combined wail as they came into the open air.
The distraction was opportune for the greatly disturbed king of scouts. It served to divert the attention of the Navaho.
“What is the matter?” asked Buffalo Bill.
The answer was that the medicine man was on his way to the tepee of the dead maiden to exorcise the evil spirits which were struggling with the maiden’s soul. Raven Feather had loved the white maiden, and, as she could not become his squaw on this earth, he wished her to become his spirit bride.
“I must be present,” said the disguised scout. “It would be Raven Feather’s wish if he were awake.”