“Winnesaw go watch traitors; she come back soon,” was the reply, and before the last sound died away, Lina found herself alone.
The Pawnee girl soon perceived that her footsteps were dogged by a black shadow, and she walked directly to her lodge. After dropping the curtains, she turned, and saw the black detective approaching with the tread of the cat.
After watching him a moment, she turned and threw herself upon her couch like one who would soon yield to the wooings of the drowsy god.
The moonlight stole faintly into her lodge, and a stray beam fell across her face. She threw an arm across her cheeks in sleepy abandon; but peeped out under the bridge of the elbow, and saw the eyes that regarded her from the outside of the wigwam. One of the Indian’s hands clutched a silver-mounted revolver, but she had no occasion to use it, for the eyes soon disappeared, and she heard their owner walking away.
She arose and gazed upon the retreating form.
It was Wolf Eyes; the peculiar gait, the crest of hawk-feathers, proclaimed his identity beyond question.
He disappeared among the shadowy lodges, satisfied, no doubt, that the object of his espionage slept suspicionless and sound.
The girl had completely deceived him, and when his form no longer obstructed her vision, she snatched a rifle from a corner, and left the lodge.
“The traitors shall not carry out all their plans,” she muttered, with determination; “they may have the pale-face girls; but they shall not carry the white boy away. The Great Spirit made his pretty face for Winnesaw, and he shall not be taken from her now.”
These words meant much, and the red lips closed over them with fearful emphasis, which told what a woman would dare for love.