On the prairie, close to the timber, the horses of the party, the wild Indian ponies, hardy and savage as their masters, the red chiefs, were tethered.
Some thirty warriors were in the little glade; the rest of the party, as the scout had surmised, were watching the camp of the emigrants.
All of the thirty warriors, excepting some eight, who appeared to the practiced eyes of the “Crow-Killer” to be the principal chiefs, were scattered over the prairie edge of the little glade near the horses, nearly all reclining on the ground.
The eight chiefs, among whom was the “White Vulture,” were seated near the middle of the glade in a circle, apparently holding a council. So the scout judged, and also that the council had just commenced, as the calumet, from which the smoke lazily curled, was being passed from mouth to mouth.
“Now then,” thought the guide, “we’ll see what the red devils are arter.” Then his eyes wandered anxiously over the Indians near the horses.
“What on earth have they done with the little gal? I can’t see her anywhar. Can the red-skins have murdered her?” and used as the “Crow-Killer” was to scenes of blood, he shuddered when he thought of Leona lying dead on the prairie and the beautiful red-gold hair hanging at the belt of some savage chief as a trophy of victory.
The pipe was passed around, and when it had completed the circle, the old warrior, the uncle of the “White Vulture,” who was called the “Thunder-Cloud,” spoke.
“My brothers are in council; their hearts are brave like the great white bear; their tongues are straight as the arrow. Will the chiefs of the Crow nation attack the white wagons again, or will they go to their lodges in the great mountains?”
Then up rose a brawny savage, hideously streaked with black paint. It was the same Indian who had, on the previous night, captured the hapless Leona. He was known among the Crows as the “Black Dog.”
It was very evident to the scout, from “Black Dog’s” speech, that he was a rival of the “White Vulture.”
The “Black Dog” advocated an immediate descent upon the train--declared that the whites were whipped and would fly before another attack--in a covert way insinuated that the chiefs in favor of returning home were cowards--a course which gained the “Black Dog” no friends, but made him enemies, for the majority of the Crows were fully satisfied that the emigrants, headed by the dreaded “Crow-Killer,” were more than a match for them.