Bad Eye was a fine-looking Indian, considerably past middle age, differing somewhat in features from the rest of the Crows, if not in color. His left eye was sightless, from which peculiarity he had received his cognomen; but the remaining eye was unusually bright and keen.
He listened to Benning’s tale very attentively, and the partisan, knowing the usually stolid nature of the Indian character, was surprised at the emotion which he manifested.
“The white-haired chief, then, is dead,” he said. “Some worse men have died, and many better men. He was hard in his dealings with the red-men, but did not treat them as badly as some traders have done. The Blackfeet must not keep his scalp, to dry in their lodges, if Bad Eye can take it from them. But his daughter is safe, I think. I know something of Silverspur, and I know that he always does what he undertakes to do. I must think of this matter. I can do nothing without consulting the counselors. When I know what to do, I will tell you.”
Benning was obliged to be satisfied with this answer, and he waited impatiently to learn the intentions of the chief.
Flora Robinette, with her white and red companions, rode rapidly away from the Blackfeet. It was her wish, as Wilder had ascertained, that she might be taken direct to her father’s usual trapping rendezvous, on the head-waters of Green River. In accordance with this wish, they soon crossed the Missouri, and shaped their course toward the south, intending to keep near the hills, in order to avoid wandering parties of Crows or other Indians.
White Shield, with a gloomy countenance, led the way, seldom speaking unless he was spoken to. Wilder and Flora followed, with little to say to each other.
The Blackfoot came to the conclusion, in the course of the night, that it would be better to cross the mountains at a pass near the waters of the Missouri than to remain on the eastern side of the range. The route, therefore, was again changed toward the west.
When morning came, they halted to prepare some food. Flora was so exhausted by loss of sleep, and by the long and rapid ride of the night, that she needed rest; but she was so fearful and excited that she was unable to snatch a few moments’ sleep. She sat by the fire, and conversed with Wilder, while White Shield, moody and meditative, sat apart, and smoked in silence.