Instantly dead silence fell upon all present, and from the fixed gaze and motionless attitude of each it was evident that they anxiously expected a repetition of the sound. It was not repeated, but a moment later voices were heard outside, then a hurried step, and next instant Big Tim sprang into the room.
“A messenger from the camp!” he cried. “Moonlight and Skipping Rabbit have been carried off by Blackfeet.”
It could easily be seen at that moment how Bounding Bull had acquired his name. From a sitting posture he sprang to his feet at one bound, darted through the doorway of the hut, cleared the low parapet like a deer, and went down the zigzag path in a succession of leaps that might have shamed a kangaroo. Little Tim followed suit almost as vigorously, accompanying his action with a leonine roar. Big Tim was close on his heels.
“Guard the fort, my son,” gasped Little Tim, as he cut the thong that secured his horse at the bottom of the track; “your mother’s life is precious, and Softswan’s. If you can quit safely, follow up.”
Leaping into the saddle, he was next instant on the track of the Indian chief, who had already disappeared.
Hurrying back to the hut, Big Tim proceeded to make hasty preparation for the defence of the place, so that he might be able to join his father. He found the prairie chief standing with closed eyes beside the couch of the preacher, who with folded hands and feeble voice was praying to God for help.
“Is Whitewing indifferent to the misfortunes of his friends,” he said somewhat sharply, “that he stands idly by while the Blackfoot robbers carry off our little ones?”
“My son, be not hasty,” returned the chief. “Prayer is quite as needful as action. Besides, I know all the land round here—the direction which this youth tells me the enemy have taken, and a short cut over the hills, which will enable you and me to cross the path your father must take, and join him, so that we have plenty of time to make arrangements and talk before we go on the war-path.”
The cool, calm way in which the chief spoke, and especially the decided manner in which he referred to a short cut and going on the war-path, tended to quiet Big Tim.
“But what am I to do?” he said, with a look of perplexity. “There are men enough here, no doubt, to hold the place agin a legion o’ Blackfeet, but they have no dependable leader.”