The Indian made no reply, but descended the slope as carefully as he had ascended it, followed by his friend. In a short time they were back at the spot where the horses had been left in charge of Brighteyes.
Whitewing took his sister aside, and for a few minutes they conversed in low tones.
“I have arranged it all with Brighteyes,” said the Indian, returning to the trapper.
“Didn’t I tell ’ee,” said Tim, with a low laugh, “that women was good at helpin’ men in time o’ war? Depend upon it that the sex must have a finger in every pie; and, moreover, the pie’s not worth much that they haven’t got a finger in.”
To these remarks the young chief vouchsafed no answer, but gravely went about making preparations to carry out his plans.
While tying the three horses to three separate trees, so as to be ready for instant flight, he favoured his friend with a few explanations.
“It is not possible,” he said, “to take more than three just now, for the horses cannot carry more. But these three Brighteyes will rescue from the camp, and we will carry them off. Then we will return with our braves and have all the rest—if Manitou allows.”
The trapper looked at his friend in surprise. He had never before heard him make use of such an expression as the last. Nevertheless, he made no remark, but while the three were gliding silently over the prairie again towards the Blackfoot camp he kept murmuring to himself: “You’re a great puzzle, Whitewing, an’ I can’t make ye out nohow. Yet I make no doubt yer right. Whativer ye do comes right somehow; but yer a great puzzle—about the greatest puzzle that’s comed across my tracks since I was a squallin’ little babby-boy!”