“Manitou knows what is best,” said the Indian solemnly. “He directs all. But His ways are very dark. Whitewing cannot understand them.”
“Still, we must act, you know,” suggested the trapper.
“Yes, we must act; and I ask counsel of my brother, because it may be that Manitou shall cause wisdom and light to flow from the lips of the white man.”
“Well, I don’t know as to that, Whitewing, but my advice, whatever it’s worth, is, that we should try to fall on the reptiles in front and rear at the same time, and that you and I should go out in advance to scout.”
“Good,” said the Indian; “my plan is so arranged.”
Without another word he gave the rein to his impatient horse, and was about to set off at full speed, when he was arrested by the trapper exclaiming, “Hold on? here’s some one coming after us.”
A rider was seen galloping from the direction of the burned camp. It turned out to be Brighteyes.
“What brings my sister?” demanded Whitewing.
The girl with downcast look modestly requested leave to accompany them.
Her brother sternly refused. “It is not woman’s part to fight,” he said.