A moment later the disguised whites stepped out into the moonlight, and into a scene of confusion utterly indescribable.
From everywhere the Sioux were issuing from the lodges, uttering cries which confirmed Rube's explanation of the first yell. Men, women, children and dogs composed the disordered rabble that rushed toward the dancing square.
The girl-hunters joined the savages, and soon learned the true cause of the hubbub.
A young Indian stood over the rigid body of a warrior of his tribe. He was gesticulating wildly as words fell rapidly from his lips.
“Feel-the-Sky hez been found dead—knifed to the heart,” whispered Rube Rattler in an ear which he at first took to be Midnight Jack's, but the next moment, to his horror, he discovered that he had addressed a genuine Sioux warrior, who was staring amazedly into his face.
For a second that perilous error seemed to unnerve the borderer's heart, but his quick wit came to the rescue.
“The wrong ear, my brother,” he said, in Sioux. “You are not Squatting Bear.”
“Bear over there,” was the reply, and the Indian pointed to the other side of the crowd formed about the corpse and its finder. “Feel-the-Sky is dead. There are bad knives in the village.”
Rube nodded, and hastened to leave the dangerous locality, touching Midnight Jack's arm as he moved away, and without a word the twain slipped into another part of the awe-stricken group.
“White girl kill Feel-the-Sky and run off,” whispered one.