“No, no! My father was killed, and I am a prisoner. Let me go; help me to get away.”
“Would the white girl go to the white people?”
“I swear it! Oh, I swear it! Help me to get away. Perhaps I can pay you in some way! Perhaps I can——”
“The white girl’s tongue is crooked as the tongue of the mother of all serpents! She loves the young chief. She would take him from Wind Flower. And for that she dies!”
She drew a knife and struck with sudden fury at the breast of the swaying girl before her. But her horse chanced to shift its position, and her blow fell short.
Lena Forest screamed in fear, and began to belabor her horse, urging it on.
As her horse jumped into motion, the wild thought that perhaps she could now escape came to her; and she beat the horse with her hands and kicked his side with her heels. He started into a quick jogtrot.
The Indian girl rode after her, and again tried to get near enough to strike with the knife. As she did so the bushes parted, and Lightfoot came bounding upon the scene.
He shouted at the furiously jealous Indian girl in anger, and, with quick bounds, caught the horse ridden by Lena Forest, throwing it back, with a heavy jerk on the bridle.
“Does Wind Flower love death?” he demanded of the Indian girl, facing her now, while holding the bridle of the horse ridden by the prisoner. “The vengeance of Crazy Snake is keen as his scalping knife. He will strike Wind Flower to the earth, if he knows of this. What does my little sister mean by it?”