Lawrence reined his horse back with iron grasp as his eyes fell upon this person.
“Red Bud of the Forest, what do you here near the lonely home of the paleface hunter?” he demanded, speaking in the language of the Pawnees.
“The Red Bud is a free child of the woods; she asks not the false paleface brave whither she can go,” haughtily replied the Indian girl.
“Red Bud turns her eyes with anger upon me; have I offended her?” he asked, changing his tone.
“Yes; the Many Faces has spoken with false tongue to the Red Bud of the Forest. Before Many Faces came to the wigwam of the Red Bud, she sang like a bird of the woods, and her heart was like the silvery river; her sorrows were light, only falling upon her as softly as the autumn leaves kiss the ground.
“But Many Faces took away the joy of the Red Bud, and the wind sighs nightly in her heart. The Great Spirit frowns at the child of the woods; the heart of the Indian maid is breaking, and the snow of winter will rest upon her bosom.
“Many Faces has a false tongue, and a false light in his eyes, for he told the Red Bud he loved her; he took her from the wigwam of her people, and then left her alone to die.
“But the Great Spirit would not let her die then. When she was worn down with hunger, when her feet would not press the earth, and the enemy of her people, the Sioux, would have danced around her scalp, the great white chief, who rides the prairie whirlwind, and whose eye ever looks death upon his foes, rescued her from her enemies and carried her back to her tribe.”
“Was it Buffalo Bill, the scout, that saved your life, girl?” Lawrence inquired.
“Red Bud has spoken the truth; her tongue is not crooked; it was the great white scout who carried her back to the Pawnee village, and he it was that told her that Many Faces loved a maiden here by the running waters.”