"It means taking command, I say, young Angel, or whatever you call yourself—are they on active service?"
"Yes."
"Who's the enemy?"
"Devils."
"Is it like that, Angel?" answered the colonel, radiant. "Doggie," he turned to his son, "seem's you've found a new master. Follow him, my son, when I am gone."
"I will," said Rising Wolf.
For hours he kept vigil at his father's bedside, each in his dream comforted by the other's presence, although the old man did not speak again.
Hugh Monroe thought of this night's great journey round the planet, made at a speed he reckoned of about four thousand miles an hour, by sheer will power of the woman he had slandered. He had dared to call Rain a charlatan!
He who called himself adventurer had met Kit Carson, Fremont, and Crittenden, Brooke the King of Sarawak, Harry Keppel, and greatest of them all young Eldred Pottinger the spy. Their very names were new to him. "And what am I?" he moaned, "compared with the least of these!"
His world had seemed enormous, limitless, his influence powerful, yet his own father had told him, Rising Wolf, white leader of the Blackfeet, to be Storm's dog!