Fred Wilder came to his senses as his friends were carrying him to their camp. They had gone on for the purpose of meeting a band of friendly Crows, supposing that Old Blaze and Silverspur would recover their horses, and would have no difficulty in overtaking them. When Silverspur told them of his adventure, and described his terrible race, he received plenty of sympathy, and praise from the open-hearted mountain men, who could well appreciate the motive that prompted him to incur such danger to save his friend.
“That was a purty smart run fur a chap from the settlements,” said one of the party; “but it warn’t a very big thing. I’ve knowed Indian runners to make more than a hundred miles in a day.”
It was a big enough thing to suit Silverspur, and his swelled legs were somewhat too big to please him. He was in such pain that he was hardly able to stir for several days. Fortunately for him he was not obliged to move. His companions had encamped with a band of Crows, and expected to remain a week or longer in that locality.
The men who had gone in pursuit of Silverspur’s pursuers brought in three scalps, and declared that the runners were Arapahoes. Bad Eye, the chief of the Crows, said that they might expect an attack, as the Arapahoes were probably awaiting an opportunity to pounce upon his people, toward whom they had lately manifested the most inveterate hostility.
The third day after Silverspur’s arrival, Old Blaze came limping into the camp, and was overjoyed at finding his friend alive. The Indians had passed within a few feet of him without observing him. When they had gone by he crawled out of his hiding-place, and followed the trail as rapidly as he could, being compelled to seek concealment every now and then, to avoid straggling parties of Indians.
He brought the intelligence that the Arapahoes were a war-party, that they were in strong force, and that they were undoubtedly intending to commit depredations upon the Crows. As this coincided with the opinion of Bad Eye, the camp was removed to a bend in the river, and the Indians, with their white allies, began to fortify the position. A slight breastwork was thrown up across the bend, and the horses were driven back into the semicircle, as the rear of the camp was rendered impregnable by the river.
The next morning the Arapahoes came in sight, and the camp was fairly invested. The Crows and the white men, perceiving that they were largely outnumbered, made every preparation for defense.
The Arapahoes seemed inspired by a desperate resolution to exterminate the band of Crows. They made charge after charge upon the breastwork, with the greatest fury, and on two occasions nearly gained possession of it. The white men persuaded their Indian allies to act altogether upon the defensive, to content themselves with repulsing the attacks of their assailants, and to labor as much as possible to strengthen their position. By this means, they argued, the Arapahoes would tire themselves out, and, when they should become wearied, they might be charged and put to flight.
Night put a stop to the struggle, and the Crows hoped that their inveterate enemies would retire from the contest; but in this they were mistaken. In the morning the assault was vigorously renewed, and it was only by the most determined fighting that the Crows could hold their ground. If it had not been for the assistance of the white men, they must have been driven into the river, and nearly all of them would have perished.
By noon the attack had slackened considerably. It became evident that the ranks of the Arapahoes had been thinned bythe close fire of their antagonists, and that they had become fatigued by the incessant labor of battle. The time had come for the besieged to assume the offensive, and they prepared to attack in their turn. Old Blaze gave directions for horses to be made ready for fifty men, with whom he proposed to make a détour through the timber, and fall upon the rear of the enemy, while the others should charge in front.
Foremost among the Arapahoes, urging them on in every attack, and fearlessly leading the charge up to the very muzzles of their guns at the breastwork, was a person who attracted attention from the beginning of the engagement, and who was soon recognized as a woman. The Crow chief said that she was the same woman who had been conspicuous in several attacks upon the Crows, and Old Blaze, believing her to be the person of whom White Shield had spoken, told Silverspur that Dove-eye was among the combatants.
Fred Wilder was so weak and sore after his hard race, that he was unable to take part in the battle; but, when he learned that Dove-eye was in the ranks of the Arapahoes, he could not restrain his impatience to see her.
Without speaking of his intention to Old Blaze, who would not have allowed him to move, he crawled out of the lodge in which he had been lying, saddled a horse, mounted, and rode forward to the breastwork, where the Crows were preparing to charge upon their adversaries.
The charge was made before he reached the forest. The Arapahoes discovered, as they began to fall from their horses, that they were attacked in the rear, and were thrown into confusion. The Crows and their white allies took advantage of this moment to sally out and fall upon their foes. As they were comparatively fresh, both men and horses, while the Arapahoes were wearied by their repeated assaults, the movement was a complete success.
Silverspur, hardly able to sit on his horse, soon perceived that it would be useless for him to attempt to overtake the charging party, and he took his station upon an eminence, from which he could have a good view of the surrounding country.
He saw that the Arapahoes were already broken, and were flying in all directions, hotly pursued by their vindictive antagonists. He looked in every quarter for Dove-eye; but hishead was so dizzy, and his eyes were so dim, that he was unable to see far, and he was about to move away, when a warrior came galloping up the slope toward him. As the warrior approached, he perceived that it was a woman. A moment more, and he recognized Dove-eye.
She was beautiful indeed. Silverspur thought that he had never seen any wild thing that was half so lovely, and it did not detract from her beauty and grace that she was riding man-fashion, as a warrior must. She was richly attired in the Indian style; her head was crowned with a plume of painted feathers, and her saddle was a panther’s skin. She rode a splendid coal-black horse, and carried a battle-ax in her right hand. Her hair, unlike the coarse and straight locks of the rest of her tribe, was wavy and inclined to curl; her complexion was a rich olive, instead of copper-color, and she had not the high cheek-bones peculiar to the Indian race. With her cheeks guiltless of paint, glowing with excitement, and her eyes flashing fire, she was beautiful indeed.
Silverspur urged his horse toward her as she rode up the slope, and called her by name; but she whirled her battle-ax in the air, and launched it full at his head. As he dodged to avoid the missile his small remnant of strength deserted him, and he fell from his horse to the ground. When he recovered himself, the warrior was out of hearing.
Picking up the battle-ax, he slowly walked back up to camp, whither his horse had preceded him.
The Crows came in loaded with scalps and full of joy. Although they had lost a number of warriors, they had a grand scalp-dance, in which the women participated most heartily. Silverspur and Old Blaze did not join the dance, but conversed of Dove-eye and of her part in the battle.
“She fit like a tiger,” said the trapper. “It’s my opeenyun that she’s got a partic’lar spite ag’inst the Crows, judgin’ by the way she pitched into ’em.”
“It is sad to think that she should have taken up the battle-ax and become so bloodthirsty.”
“Rayther sad fur the Crows, shore enough. Her lettin’ go the battle-ax would hev been sadder fur you, ef ye hadn’t dodged the weapon. Are you sartin it is the same gal?”
“I have not a doubt of it. I saw her plainly, and I could not be mistaken. Those flashing eyes, that rich olive complexion, that queenly carriage, could not be forgotten. There was no change in her, except that she seemed more beautiful than ever.”
“Yaas, I reckon. Handsome is as handsome does, ’cordin’ to my notion, and it don’t look over and above handsome to see a gal trottin’ out on the war-path and flingin’ bloody battle-axes about. ’Pears like she didn’t know ye.”
“I suppose she did not,” replied Wilder, as his countenance fell.
“A knock-down blow with that battle-ax of her’n wouldn’t be what ye might call a love-tap, and it warn’t no common way of lettin’ ye know that she hadn’t forgot ye. But ye oughtn’t to be down-hearted, boy. Remember how ye fooled Old Blaze down to St. Louey. Tell ye, thar’s a powerful differ atween a chap with long ha’r and beard, and his face brown and his leggin’s on, and the same chap when he is short-sheared and class-shaved, and has got the look of the settlements onto him. The gal was just from the fight, too, whar every white man was an inimy. Ye may count it sartin that she didn’t know ye.”
“I believe you are right. I must find her, old friend.”
“I allowed ye’d found her to-day. Leastways, ye found her battle-ax.”
“I must see her and speak to her. If it is necessary to go among the Arapahoes to find her, I must seek her there. Will you help me, or is it too much to ask?”
“Ye kin bet yer life that Old Blaze will stand by ye.”