Fred Wilder, after his involuntary leap, remained a long time insensible. When he awoke, he thought that he might as well have remained insensible. It was so dark that he could not see what sort of a place he was in. If he had seen, he could have not explored it, as he soon discovered that he was unable to move. He knew that his left leg was broken, and he feared that his left arm was as badly injured. He felt bruised and sore all over; but that was nothing; the wonder was that he was alive.

As he could not get away, he tried to resign himself to his situation; but the more he reflected upon it, the less resigned he became. The Indians, believing that he had been killed by the fall, would surely come to seek him as soon as it was light, and it would be impossible for him to escape. All his peril and suffering would be for nothing, as he would at last fall into their hands an unresisting victim.

Hours of darkness must have an end. Light will come, though suffering does not cease. Daylight came to Fred Wilder; but he could not feel that he ought to be thankful for it, as it would bring his enemies in search of him. It enabled him to see the location into which his lot and his body had fallen.

On one side was a precipice, so lofty that he shuddered as he thought of his fearful fall from its brink. Just around him was a green and grassy spot, upon the soft turf of which he had fallen. The grass stretched toward the east, until it melted into the prairie. In all other directions were ragged and rocky hills, beyond which towered grand mountain ranges.

It was near the head of a ravine that the young man had fallen. A crystal spring bubbled up near him, and its plentiful waters formed a little stream, that ran laughing down the ravine. By the side of the stream, a few steps from the wounded man, lay the body of the Indian dog that had been the cause of his trouble. Wilder smiled grimly as he looked at the dead animal.

“You are dead, then, you miserable little wretch,” he said. “There must be what my old tutor used to call a providential dispensation in this. I, who was the heaviest, have fallen upon a soft spot, and am alive. You, who were the lightest, and the most likely to survive the fall, struck your head upon a stone, and dashed out your wretched brains. It follows, that you were in the wrong, and I was in the right. Your death is a judgment upon you for having given me an overdose of bark. Ah, well! I ought not to exult over you, as my fix will be worse than yours.”

Having seen all that was within the range of his vision, Wilder had nothing to do but to make himself as easy as possible, and to wait for the coming of the Indians. This was unpleasant occupation, and he soon fretted himself into such a weak and feverish state, that he fainted.

When he again opened his eyes, a rare vision greeted them. By his side stood an Indian girl, who seemed to him, at that moment, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

Her features were perfect, and her complexion was a delicate brunette, very different from that of any forest maiden he had yet seen. She had not the high cheek-bones peculiar to the aboriginal race, and her nose was decidedly of the Grecian order. Her hair, too, though black as the raven’s wing, was wavy, with a strong inclination to curl. Her lips were rosy and rich, and there was an evident dimple on her chin; but her large brown eyes, as they were opened to their widest, with an expression of amazement and compassion, were to Wilder her most wonderful feature.

He ran over these particulars with an artistic eye; but he had only an instant to observe them, as the girl uttered a little startled scream when he looked up at her, and turned to fly.

He called to her, in the Dahcotah dialect, as loudly as his weak state would permit him to call; but his voice was very feeble. She stopped, and after a little hesitation, came to him.

“I am wounded,” he said. “I fell from the top of that cliff last night, and am badly hurt. I can not move.”

This appeal was sufficient to excite the sympathy of the girl. Telling Wilder that she would soon return, she hastened away.

Within half an hour—though it seemed much longer to Wilder, who was anxious to see her again, and who feared that the Indians might arrive before she returned—she came back, accompanied by two men. One of these was a negro, and the other was an old Indian, whose hair was as white as snow, and whose face and hands and garments were painted with strange devices.

They brought with them a sort of litter, upon which the wounded man was laid very carefully and tenderly. The negro carrying one end of the litter, and the old man and the girl the other, they ascended a steep hill, and, after winding in and out among the rocks, came to a lodge, made of skins stretched upon poles, at the foot of the cliff. They entered the lodge, and Wilder saw nothing more. His rough journey had exhausted him, and he fainted.

When he again awoke, he found himself in a dark apartment, lying upon a couch of furs. From what the darkness permitted him to see, he judged that the apartment was a cavern, or a portion of a cavern; but he was not able to form any opinion of its shape or size.

He heard voices near him, which he believed to be those of the old Indian and the girl; but he could see no one, and he concluded that they were in another room. They were talking in the Indian tongue, of which he understood enough to enable him to follow their conversation.

“It shall be as you say, my child,” said the old man; “but if I do this thing, you must promise me that you will not leave me while I live.”

“You know that I have no wish to leave you, my father; but I will promise; only save the life of this white man. It must be him whom the warriors were chasing last night, when there was such a noise in the direction of the village. He was nearly killed by the fall from that cliff.”

“I will dress his wounds, and we will take care of him.”

“But the warriors will seek for him this morning. They will go to the spot where we found him, to see his body and to take his scalp. Not finding him there, they will follow our trail, and will come here.”

“It is true. He must be hid.”

“But where can he be hid? He is too weak to be moved.”

“He shall remain where he is, in the sacred room, which the warriors never enter. I will tell them that the white man was killed by his fall, and that I buried him. I found a scalp upon him, which I will give to the warriors, and I will tell them that it is his scalp.”

The old man drew from the breast of his robe the scalp of Paul Robinette, and showed it to the girl, who shuddered as she looked at it.

“But that is a gray scalp,” she said, “and this is a young man.”

“The warriors had not seen him, JosÉ tells me, and they do not know whether he is young or old.”

“But this is not a fresh scalp. It is old, and the warriors will know that they are imposed upon.”

“I will tell them that I have dried it, and they will believe me.”

“They always believe you. I now believe that the young man will be safe. Do you think that he took that scalp—that he killed the man to whom it belonged?”

“Why not?”

“He looks too good to take scalps.”

“I am afraid that it is because of his looks that Dove-eye wishes to save his life.”

“Listen, my father! The warriors are coming!”

When the question of the gray scalp was brought up, Wilder felt a very lively interest in the conversation. The possession of that article seemed to him, at the moment, of more importance than the preservation of his life. He was about to speak to his red friends and to demand the restoration of the trophy, when the announcement that the warriors were coming compelled him to hold his peace.

The announcement was immediately followed by the arrival of a large party of Indians, whom he could easily hear as they entered the lodge, talking volubly in their own tongue. A curtain of skins was let fall over the opening of the apartment in which he lay, and he was left in total darkness.

Darkness was favorable to meditation, and he soon convinced himself that it was for the best to let the scalp go. If the hair of Paul Robinette could save his own, that was probably the best use it could be put to. Besides, if the Indians should discover him, they would take his own scalp and that of the old trader, and he would be none the better off for having kept it.

A great jabbering was kept up in the outer room for a while; but the warriors seemed to be satisfied, as they soon left, and the man and the girl came to his couch.

After a little conversation, in which Wilder informed his friends that he had overheard their plan for saving his life, and thanked them for their successful efforts, the old Indian sent away the girl, and called in the negro. An examination of Wilder’s wounds was then made, and the old man, to his great astonishment, set the broken limb in very good style. His leg was properly bandaged, his bruises were attended to, and he soon felt quite comfortable. His situation was so much better than it had been at night, when he was lying on the ground alone, in pain, and in expectation of death at the hands of merciless savages, that he felt that he could desire nothing more, except the company of the beautiful Indian girl.

She soon came, and another came with her. The room was so dark that Wilder could not see her face or that of her companion; but he was sure that the latter was a woman.

“Perhaps he is sleeping, and we had better not disturb him,” said Dove-eye, as she came in.

“Oh no! I must see him and speak to him.”

Surely Wilder knew that voice. There was no mistaking its low, but clear and melodious tones.

“Flora! Miss Robinette!” he exclaimed. “Can it be you?”

“And who are you, sir? Is it Mr. Wilder?”

“It is what is left of him.”

“You are badly wounded. Perhaps it was in trying to assist me that you were injured. Let me have some light, Dove-eye. I must see him.”

“My sister knows him,” said the Indian girl. “Perhaps she loves him.”

“He has been very good to me, Dove-eye; but he is no lover of mine.”

The curtain was removed from the opening, and Wilder was able to distinguish the faces of his friends, who seated themselves at his side. Flora Robinette expressed the deepest sympathy when he related the manner in which he had been injured, and was hardly less anxious concerning White Shield. In response to his questions, she gave an account of her adventures since she had parted from him the mountains. The Arapahoes had brought her to their village, where she had been seen by Dove-eye, who had taken such a fancy to her, that she had begged the old medicine-man to bring her to his lodge. As he was easily persuaded by her, and as his influence was great in the tribe, the request was granted, and Flora had since been the constant companion of Dove-eye. A warm affection had sprung up between the two, and Flora, although a captive, had become somewhat reconciled to her captivity, as she was happy in the friendship of the Indian girl.

Wilder, whose thoughts and eyes had been wandering to Dove-eye while Flora was speaking, thanked her for her kindness, and could not avoid calling to Flora’s remembrance an expression which he had used in conversation with her.

“Do you remember that I said to you, that if you happened to have a sister, and she happened to be as beautiful as yourself, and a little older, and not quite so highly civilized, I might fancy her? If Dove-eye was your sister, my words would now be verified.”

“But we are sisters; are we not, Dove-eye?” said Flora, taking the hand of her companion.

“We are sisters,” replied the Indian girl, looking down and blushing.