Then the Indian started to her feet, and Lina Aiken was alone again.
Slowly her eyes unclosed, and with a look of bewilderment she rose to a sitting posture and gazed about the apartment.
The sleep of insensibility had been broken, as it were, by the rape of a lock.
The watcher hailed her recovery with an exclamation of joy, and, simultaneously with the return of Red Eagle, accompanied by the Pawnee Medicine, he was brought to his feet by a yell.
“The Platte Pawnees have entered the village!” he exclaimed. “What can it mean?”
He bounded to the council square, and found a crowd of red-skins swarming about several wild-looking men seated on jaded steeds.
In an instant his voice quieted the Bedlamic uproar.
The new-comers sprung erect on the backs of their horses, and in thundering tones told the story of Frontier Shack’s victory on the banks of the Platte.
A thousand yells of vengeance followed the narration.
“I must lead them,” muttered Tom Kyle. “That infernal trapper has been too fresh of late; he hasn’t heeded my summons an accursed bit!”