Fred Wilder bore his captivity patiently; but this does not prove that he possessed the gift of patience in a very remarkable degree. Dove-eye was with him daily and hourly, and his admiration for the forest maiden had strengthened into a passion. His heart was enthralled in such a sweet captivity, that he took no thought of the captivity of his body.

He had not yet had time or occasion to think how this was to end. He had given himself no uneasiness concerning the fate of White Shield; he had not attempted to form a plan for the release of Flora Robinette and her return to her friends; nor had he even guessed how he should take Dove-eye away from the Arapahoes, if she should be willing to leave them. Love, if not really a selfish feeling, is apt to crowd out other thoughts and feelings.

It is probable that he would not have related to Flora his adventures since she left him at the pass in the mountains, if she had not questioned him upon the subject. When he recounted the conversation which he had overheard between Martin Laurie and Jake Farnsworth, so many emotions were excited in Flora’s bosom, that she at last burst into tears.

“Why need you be so greatly troubled about it?” asked Wilder, when she had wiped away her tears. “Those fellows can’t hurt you.”

“My father’s scalp! To think that it should be made the price of my hand!”

“But you are not obliged to give your hand to the man who happens to recover the scalp.”

“To think that he should be scalped, after having dreaded it all his life, and that his scalp should now be drying in some Blackfoot lodge. It is too horrible!”

“You are mistaken there. The scalp is not among the Blackfeet. I brought it with me when we left their village.”

“You did?” exclaimed Flora, opening her eyes very wide.

“I did; but it does not follow that I am to marry you,” replied Wilder, with a smile at Dove-eye.

“No; for the medicine-man took it from you, and gave it to the Arapaho warriors.”

“You guessed right that time. I suppose you had rather George Benning had taken it from the Blackfeet; but he did not happen to be there, as I was. Your father’s scalp has saved my scalp, and I am well rewarded for the freak of stealing the trophy from the Blackfeet—for it was nothing but a freak, you perceive, as I then knew nothing of the conditions of your father’s will. As the matter now stands, you have a much better chance to recover the scalp than either George Benning or I.”

“How so? What can I do?”

“I am disabled, as you see, and it may be many weeks before I am able to walk. George Benning is searching for you, no doubt, if he is the man I take him to be; but we don’t know where he is, and it is very doubtful whether he is on the right trail. You alone are at liberty and able to act.”

“What shall I do?”

“Persuade Dove-eye to get the scalp from the Arapahoes. The warriors have had their dance over it, no doubt, and it is a small matter to them now. She might ask for it as a curiosity. If they should not be willing to give it to her, she could soon find it hanging about somewhere, unnoticed, and there would be no excitement about it if it should be missed. I think she would gladly consent to get it for you, and then the trophy will be with you, to whom it rightfully belongs. When it is in your possession, I see nothing to hinder you from bestowing it, and the legacy that accompanies it, where you bestow your hand.”

Dove-eye, who had understood a portion of the conversation, answered the appealing look of her friend with a smile. When Flora had fully explained the case to her, and had implored her aid in recovering the scalp, she at once consented, glad of an opportunity to serve her white sister.

“But I can do nothing for two or three suns,” she said. “I can not go to the village now.”

“Why not?” asked Flora, to whom the scalp had become precious, not only because it was her father’s, but because her own fate was so nearly affected by it.

“Because I have so much to do here, that I can not get away. I must conceal both of you in some other place, as my father is going to the spirit-land, and this lodge will be full of warriors.”

“What do you mean?” asked Wilder. “Is the old medicine-man so near dead? I had not known that he was sick.”

“He is not sick. He goes to the spirit-land when he wishes to go, and the warriors come and look at him while he is dead, and go away. Then he comes back from the spirit-land, and they visit him again, when he tells them what he has seen and what will happen to them.”

“What an imposture! Do you believe that he dies, Dove-eye?”

“He goes to the spirit-land. The warriors pinch him, and prick him, and are sure that he is dead.”

“Very well done for a red-skin! When will he take leave of us?”

“To-morrow night he will go to the spirit-land, and the next morning the warriors will come to look at him. After that day I will do what my sister has asked me to do.”

“And then, Miss Robinette,” said Wilder, “you will be obliged to marry yourself, or give up half your fortune.”

“I wish you would not speak of the matter so lightly,” replied Flora. “Of what use will it be to me, if I am always to remain here? How can I ever escape?”

“That is a question for the future. For my part, I can do nothing until I am able to walk. I hope that a way will open for all of us.”

Wilder looked meaningly at the Indian girl, who held down her head, and turned away.

The old medicine-man and the negro came in, at the request of Dove-eye, to remove Wilder to another place of concealment. There was another small cave, a short distance from that in front of which the lodge was built, to which the wounded man was carried, with the assistance of the girls. Dove-eye and Flora arranged a comfortable couch for him, and the medicine-man hung up before the entrance a dressed buffalo-skin, painted with strange devices, indicating that the place was sacred. Flora was told that she also must enter that cave when the warriors came from the village, and must remain there until the ceremonies were completed, but would be free, until that time, to go about as she had usually done.

The next morning Flora went early to the spring for water. The promise of Dove-eye, and the confident tone in which Fred Wilder spoke of the future, had given her hope, and her heart was light and cheerful for the first time in many weeks. She was singing as she descended the hill, so gayly that she did not hear her name pronounced in a low voice, and she started when the voice assumed a louder tone.

“Who is it?” she asked, as she stopped and looked around, not knowing whom to expect, unless it might be White Shield.

“A friend,” was the answer, and a young man in hunter’s costume stepped out into the path before her.

Joy and surprise were mingled in the exclamation which she uttered as she recognized George Benning. Fearing that she was about to faint, the young partisan stretched out his arms to keep her from falling; but she quickly recovered herself, and gave him her hand.

“Where did you come from, Captain Benning?” she asked. “How did you get here? Is any one with you?”

“You ask more questions than I can answer at a breath. I have been searching for you ever since you were lost.”

“I did not know who it could be, when you spoke, unless it might be White Shield.”

“Who is White Shield?”

“An Indian who helped me to escape from the Blackfoot village.”

“I have seen him. He will be here presently. I was waiting for him when you came singing down the hill. Here he is.”

White Shield rose up, as if from the earth, and presented himself before the young lady, who welcomed him like an old friend. The Blackfoot caused his friends to step aside into a sheltered nook, where mutual explanations were given, Flora declaring that she could only remain there a few moments, as search would be made for her if she should not soon return to the lodge.

“Why should you return?” asked Benning. “I have come to save you, to take you away. There is a large band of friendly Indians with me, and you have only to mount my horse and ride a short distance, when you will be in the camp, safe from the Arapahoes.”

“Can you also save Mr. Wilder, and take him with you?”

“You are first to be considered. I can place you in safety, and will then see what I can do for your friend.”

Benning laid such an emphasis on the word “friend,” that Flora noticed it.

“Mr. Wilder saved me from the Blackfeet,” she said. “He came here to save me from the Arapahoes, and was badly wounded in the attempt, so that he is unable to move. Do you think I could desert him? There is another matter to be considered. My father’s scalp is in the Arapaho village, and it is of the greatest importance to me that it be recovered from them. If you wish really to serve me, can you not get possession of that relic?”

“God knows that I wish to serve you! The Crows are eager to fight, and will be glad of the opportunity; but there will be a battle, and I feared that you might be carried away during the struggle.”

“There need be little or no danger. I have a plan, of which I think both you and White Shield will approve.”

Flora then told her companions of the scene that was to be acted next morning, at the lodge on the cliff. She accurately described the situation and surroundings of the lodge, showing that there would be an excellent opportunity to lay an ambuscade, by which the Arapaho warriors could be attacked and routed as they left the lodge of the medicine-man. The victory would be an easy one, she thought, as the Arapahoes, being surprised and mostly unarmed, would be readily dispersed. Benning and his friends once in possession of the village, they might recover the gray scalp, and might at their leisure remove Wilder and herself, with Dove-eye, if she would accompany them.

Benning had listened with surprise when Flora spoke of her father’s scalp, and remembered the anxiety which Martin Laurie expressed to obtain possession of that trophy. He fell in with her views the more readily, as she had given him some clue to the strange conduct of the Scotchman. He highly approved of her plan, and thought that there could be no possible difficulty in carrying it out.

White Shield also pricked up his ears when the gray scalp was mentioned. He was rejoiced to hear that Silverspur, although badly wounded, was alive and likely to live; but he was still puzzled concerning the scalp.

“The Arapahoes told me,” said he, “that they were dancing over the scalp of Silverspur; but I knew they did not speak the truth.”

Flora was obliged to tell him how her father’s scalp had been brought from the Blackfoot village, and how it had saved the life of his friend. White Shield expressed his approval gutturally. If he had been a Yankee, he would have whistled; as he was an Indian, he grunted most emphatically.

It was necessary for Flora to hasten back to the lodge, lest she should be missed. Assuring her friends that she would pray for their success, she ran away to tell the news to Fred Wilder.

White Shield wished to remain in the vicinity of the village, so that he could be near Silverspur; but Benning persuaded him to accompany him to the camp of the Crows, so that he might take part in the expected attack. It was for the benefit of Silverspur, Benning argued, and White Shield need trouble himself no further about the Arapahoes.