“Child,” exclaimed the matron, while her countenance fell, “can the dove mate with the raven? the rabbit with the wolf?”
“They can, for all I care or know to the contrary,” said Moonlight—impelled, no doubt, by the spirit of Little Tim. “But” she continued quickly, “I bear a message to Bounding Bull. Where is he?”
“Not in the camp, my daughter. He has gone to the block-house to see the preacher.”
“And father. Is he here?”
“No, he has gone with Bounding Bull. There is no chief in the camp just now—only the young braves to guard it.”
“How well they guard it—when I am here!” said the girl, with a laugh; then, becoming intensely earnest, she told her mother in as few words as possible the object of her visit, concluding with the very pertinent question, “Now, what is to be done?”
“You dare not allow Rushing River to enter the camp just now,” said Brighteyes. “The young men would certainly kill him.”
“But I must not send him away,” returned the perplexed Moonlight. “If I do, I—I shall never—he will never more return.”
“Could you not creep out of camp as you crept in and warn him?”
“I could, as far as the sentinels are concerned, for they are little better than owls; but it is growing lighter now, and the moon will be up soon—I dare not risk it. If I were caught, would not the braves suspect something, and scour the country round? I know not what to do, yet something must be done at once.”