George Benning thought himself compelled to remain with the Crows until he could learn the intentions of Bad Eye, their chief. He was confident that the Blackfeet warriors would return from their pursuit with Flora Robinette, if not with Silverspur and his red companion. He must look for Flora among them, and, as he could not expect to effect any thing alone, he was obliged to seek the aid of the Crows.

Bad Eye expressed, and appeared to feel, a great interest in Benning’s enterprise, but was in no haste to afford him such aid as he desired. He frequently declared his belief that Silverspur (whose name had become really hateful to George Benning) would not fail to accomplish any thing that he undertook, and that the girl was probably safe, if she had not been carried to her friends. But the scalp of the white-haired chief, he said, should not dry in the lodges of the Blackfeet, and sooner or later he would wrest that trophy from them.

Although this promise had been often made, the chief seemed to be in no hurry to keep it, and Benning, discouraged and out of patience, had resolved to leave the village, when Bad Eye at last yielded to his importunities. A war-party was dispatched to the Blackfoot village, with orders to attack if a fair opportunity should present itself. One of the first of the Crow warriors headed the expedition, and Benning accompanied it as a volunteer.

The Blackfoot village was found to be deserted, its occupants having removed further to the north. The Crows followed the trail, and discovered that the village had been united with another, and that the combined force was too formidable to justify an attack. After hovering a few days in the vicinity, during which time they captured some Blackfeet women, and ran off some horses, the Crows returned to their own village, to avoid reprisals from their enemies.

The chief and George Benning questioned the prisoners, and learned from them that the former had been correct in his surmises concerning the escape of Silverspur and the safety of Flora Robinette. Their warriors had returned from the pursuit, the women said, after suffering great losses. They had followed the fugitives into the mountains, and had nearly overtaken them, when they were stopped at a narrow pass, which was obstinately defended by Silverspur. They were at last obliged to send a party around to turn his position, when he had decamped. They then followed the trail a considerable distance, but at last gave up the pursuit in despair, and returned to mourn their losses. As for the scalp of the white-haired chief, they had danced over it; but it was not drying in any Blackfoot lodge. It had disappeared; no one knew what had become of it, and the heart of Good Ax was very hot.

Thoroughly convinced that Silverspur had accomplished the object upon which his own heart had been set, and grieved that he had uselessly spent so much time among the Crows, Benning decided to set out at once to join Flora. Whatever his feelings toward Wilder might be, he could not doubt that Flora had requested him to convey her to the place which her father had appointed as a rendezvous, and that he would faithfully obey her request. Benning had no fear that his supposed rival would act toward Flora otherwise than as a gentleman and a true friend; but therein lay the peril of his own hopes. Wilder was so evidently a gentleman, and had had such a splendid opportunity to prove himself a friend! Flora could not fail to be touched by his chivalry and devotion, and, if he should press his suit, it was not to be supposed that she could have the heart to refuse him, especially as Benning had never declared his love.

In this mood the young partisan had bid farewell to Bad Eye, and was about to leave the country of the Crows, when there was an arrival at the village, the new-comers being Mr. Martin Laurie and a band of trappers.

Benning was greatly surprised to see the agent at that time and place, and Laurie was no less surprised at meeting the partisan.

“I was afraid you were dead,” said the Scotchman. “I heard nothing of you, and all of us supposed that you had been rubbed out by the red-skins.”

“Not yet,” coolly replied Benning, who was suspicious of the Scotchman, and felt unwilling to give him any information until he could learn what his intentions were.

“Have you been able to do any thing for Miss Flora?”

“Nothing at all.”

Laurie, to whom Flora had now become a secondary object to the possession of her father’s scalp, here dropped the subject, which he found Benning quite willing to avoid. He was shrewd enough to guess that the young partisan would not be so cool and unexcited about the matter, unless he knew that Flora was safe. If she was safe, and Benning was remaining quietly among the Crows, it was reasonable to suppose that the young lady was not far off. Laurie had as yet heard nothing to move him from the belief that a party of Crows had made the night-attack upon Mr Robinette’s encampment, and he was still convinced that Flora was to be found among them. Benning doubtless knew where she was; but he was not rich enough to buy her from them, or influential enough to insure them immunity for the outrage. If the Crows had Flora, it was probable that they also had the scalp of Paul Robinette. The way seemed clear to Martin Laurie, who soon left the young man, and hastened to the lodge of the chief, for the purpose of opening negotiations.

George Benning had been led to quite different conclusions, which were as groundless as those of Laurie. When we reason upon false premises, the reasoning can not fail to deceive. Convinced that Silverspur had taken Flora to the rendezvous, he saw, from the light and easy manner in which Laurie mentioned her, that he knew of her safety and had seen her. It was evident to him that the shrewd Scotchman wished him to remain ignorant of her rescue, in order that he might be kept away from her as long as possible. He could not help smiling at the shortsightedness of Laurie, in expecting to conceal the truth from him, when he could so easily learn it from the trappers whom he had brought from the rendezvous.

He went among them to satisfy himself, but was doomed to disappointment. None of the men who came with Laurie had been at the rendezvous while Silverspur was there, and they knew nothing about him. Consequently they were unable to understand the hints which Benning (not wishing to ask openly about Flora) threw out concerning that person.

At last he was compelled to ask them openly whether Flora had reached the rendezvous, and the answers that he received were decidedly in the negative. None had seen her, none knew any thing about her, and all were sure that Laurie was as ignorant as themselves.

Benning could not help believing the statements of the trappers, except so far as they related to Laurie’s ignorance, on which point he reserved a doubt. Whatever he might think of Silverspur, he was sure that he was not a man whom Martin Laurie could buy. It was possible, however, that the Scotchman might have convinced him of the justness of his claim upon Flora, and that Silverspur had given her up, in which case Laurie had concealed her for purposes of his own. Filled with this thought, the young man hastened to seek Laurie, and met him as he was coming out of the chief’s lodge, looking crestfallen and indignant.

As both were angry, they gave utterance to their thoughts with less coolness than had marked their first interview.

“I think we had better have an understanding, Mr. Benning,” said Laurie.

“I have come here for the purpose of having an understanding with you. I want to know what crooked purpose has brought you to this place.”

“Don’t be angry, my young friend. It will be to your interest to keep on the right side of me, and I am sure that you will gain nothing by flying into a passion. I don’t know why you should impute crooked purposes to me.”

“I supposed, from the way you spoke about Miss Robinette, that she was safe at the rendezvous.”

“I don’t know how she should have got there. I supposed, from your manner of speaking, that she was safe here, among the Crows; but the old chief tells me that she has not been here. He says that none of his people have ever attacked any party of white men, and that no white scalps have been brought into the village.”

“Did he tell you nothing more?” asked Benning, as the Scotchman paused.

“He said that he had learned that they were Blackfeet who made the attack upon our camp, and that he had no doubt that Miss Flora had been carried off by them.”

“Was that all?”

“That was all. I am afraid that the old rascal has been lying to me. Can you tell me whether he spoke the truth?”

“I suppose he did,” replied Benning, wondering at the reticence of Bad Eye. “He ought to know whether his own people are clear.”

“He may know, but may be unwilling to speak the truth. Come, Benning; I am convinced that you know more about this matter than you are ready to tell. We are in the same boat, and you will lose nothing by rowing with me. Do you know any thing about Miss Flora?”

“First answer me a question or two, and then I will tell you what I know.”

“Shoot them out.”

“Will you promise to answer them truly?”

“I will, so help me God!”

“Do you know a man named Fred Wilder, whom the Indians call Silverspur?”

“Yes.”

“Has he been at the rendezvous lately?”

“Yes.”

“Did he not bring Miss Flora with him?”

“Miss Flora? No, indeed. Why do you ask such a question?”

“Did he say nothing about her?”

“Nothing at all. He remained with us a few days, and then went away with a stray Indian.”

“Of what tribe was the Indian?”

“I think he was a Blackfoot.”

“It is plain enough now. I feared as much. We have both been cheated, and Silverspur has carried off the prize.”

Benning then related his own adventures, and what he knew of those of Flora, winding up his account by declaring that he had had no doubt that the young lady had arrived safely at the rendezvous, until Laurie had convinced him to the contrary. Both agreed in thinking it very strange that Wilder had not spoken of Flora at the rendezvous, and could only attribute his silence to the intention of foul play.

“The old chief told me the truth; then,” remarked Laurie, “and the Blackfeet were the rascals who stampeded our camp. Do you think it likely that that young chap, when he stole Miss Flora away from them, would also have carried off the old man’s scalp?”

“Of course not. That is a strange question to ask.”

“To tell you the truth, Benning, I am interested in obtaining that scalp. If you can manage to get it for me, by trading or in any other way, I will resign my claim to Flora in your favor.”

“Of what use can the scalp be to you?” asked Benning, thinking that the agent had suddenly become very generous.

“If you had known Paul Robinette as well as I knew him, you would have known that he had some very queer points. One of his queer points was the fear that he would be scalped. He could not bear to think that his scalp should dry in an Indian lodge. He made me promise him most solemnly that if he should be killed, I would recover his scalp, and he gave me three thousand dollars as a fund to be applied to that purpose. I have no need of the money, but I am a man of my word, George Benning, and I will gladly transfer the amount to you if you will carry out the wish of my old friend, and will deliver the scalp to me. As for Flora, I don’t suppose that I am giving you much in that quarter. The desire of her father would weigh with her, no doubt, and I have told you what that was; but the young are not likely to mate with the old.”

“Nor the eagle with the buzzard,” thought Benning; but he did not put his thought into words. It seemed to him that the Scotchman was rather too generous, and he was silent, wondering what motive had urged this strange proposition.

As he stood there, looking at Laurie, he felt a hand laid on his shoulder. He turned, and was confronted by the Crow chief.

“I have heard the talk of my white friends,” he said. “They seem to think that Silverspur is a bad man; but I know him. The sun may rise in the west some day. When it does so, I may believe that the ways of Silverspur are crooked; but not until then. In what direction did he go after leaving the rendezvous?”

“I heard that he recrossed the mountains by way of the South Pass,” replied Laurie. “He was seen traveling toward the south.”

“To the country of the Cheyennes, or the Arapahoes, or perhaps further. Wherever he is, he can be found. Bad Eye has said that the scalp of the white-haired chief shall not remain in a Blackfoot lodge, and the words of Bad Eye are not wind. Let my young friend stay with me. As for you, Red Hair, your tongue is not straight, and your talk does not please me.”

Martin Laurie, rebuffed by the Crow chief, left the village in high dudgeon, and George Benning remained, waiting impatiently for the development of Bad Eye’s intentions.