The scout recognized White-man-runs-him, the friendly trailer who was destined, within a few months, to play a prominent part in one of the most thrilling dramas in the history of conflicts with American Indians.
The Indian sprang across a little open space, with Bear Paw at his heels. After many devious turns and manœuvres among the rocks the Indian emerged upon the plain and pointed a little to the south of the setting sun.
“Bozeman is there; white bad men here; Pa-e-has-ka have care.”
The scout reached his hand, and for a moment solemnly clasped that of the red brother; then, pulling a beautiful pearl-handled hunting knife from his own belt, he passed it hilt foremost to the Indian.
“Never soil it with innocent blood, brother,” he said, and rode away.
The Indian stood with the handsome knife in his hand, looking first at it and then after the figure of a horseman that was rapidly disappearing in the swiftly falling night.
If the red lips formed a vow there was none to hear, but in swiftly following events that knife figured, and was in the famous battle in which General Custer and nearly three hundred brave men fell.
Little Cayuse had no difficulty in keeping the rascally Price in sight, and when the latter entered a lonely cabin on the outskirts of the town the Piute was not far away. He saw from safe concealment another man come out and peer intently about, as if fearing eavesdroppers, and then pass around the cabin to discover if any person might be hiding in the shadows near by.
Then, before the fellow had barely closed the door, the silent moccasins of Little Cayuse had covered the distance to the hut, and their owner was searching the walls for crack or crevice by which he could see and hear what was going on within. The search was unrewarded, and Cayuse sought other means.