While the things described in the last chapter were going on in the Indian camp, Rushing River was prowling around it, alternately engaged in observation and meditation, for he was involved in complicated difficulties.

He had come to that region with a large band of followers for the express purpose of scalping his great enemy Bounding Bull and all his kindred, including any visitors who might chance to be with him at the time.  After attacking Tim’s Folly, and being driven therefrom by its owner’s ingenious fireworks, as already related, the chief had sent away his followers to a distance to hunt, having run short of fresh meat.  He retained with himself a dozen of his best warriors, men who could glide with noiseless facility like snakes, or fight with the noisy ferocity of fiends.  With these he meant to reconnoitre his enemy’s camp, and make arrangements for the final assault when his braves should return with meat-for savages, not less than other men, are dependent very much on full stomachs for fighting capacity.

But now a change had come over the spirit of his dream.  He had suddenly fallen in love, and that, too, with one of his enemy’s women.  His love did not, however, extend to the rest of her kindred.  Firm as was his resolve to carry off the girl, not less firm was his determination to scalp her family root and branch.

As we have said, he hesitated to attack the camp for fear that mischief might befall the girl on whom he had set his heart.  Besides, he would require all his men to enable him to make the attack successfully, and these would not, he knew, return to him until the following day.  The arrival of Whitewing and Little Tim with their party still further perplexed him.

He knew by the council that was immediately called, and the preparations that followed, that news of some importance had been brought by the prairie chief, and that action of some sort was immediately to follow; but of course what it all portended he could not divine, and in his uncertainty he feared that Moonlight-whose name of course he did not at that time know-might be spirited away, and he should never see her again.  Really, for a Red Indian, he became quite sentimental on the point and half resolved to collect his dozen warriors, make a neck-or-nothing rush at Bounding Bull, and carry off his scalp and the girl at the same fell swoop.

Cooler reflection, however, told him that the feat was beyond even his powers, for he knew well the courage and strength of his foe, and was besides well acquainted with the person and reputation of the prairie chief and Little Tim, both of whom had foiled his plans on former occasions.

Greatly perplexed, therefore, and undetermined as to his course of procedure, Rushing River bade his followers remain in their retreat in a dark part of a tangled thicket, while he should advance with one man still further in the direction of the camp to reconnoitre.

Having reached an elevated spot as near to the enemy as he dared venture without running the risk of being seen by the sentinels, he flung himself down, and crawled towards a tree, whence he could partially observe what went on below.  His companion, a youth named Eaglenose, silently followed his example.  This youth was a fine-looking young savage, out on his first war-path, and burning to distinguish himself.  Active as a kitten and modest as a girl, he was also quick-witted, and knew when to follow the example of his chief and when to remain inactive-the latter piece of knowledge a comparatively rare gift to the ambitious!

After a prolonged gaze, with the result of nothing gained, Rushing River was about to retire from the spot as wise as he went, when his companion uttered the slightest possible hiss.  He had heard a sound.  Next instant the chief heard it, and smiled grimly.  We may remark here in passing that the Blackfoot chief was eccentric in many ways.  He prided himself on his contempt for the red man’s love for paint and feathers, and invariably went on the war-path unpainted and unadorned.  In civilised life he would certainly have been a Radical.  How far his objection to paint was influenced by the possession of a manly, handsome countenance, of course we cannot tell.

To clear up the mystery of the sound which had thrilled on the sharp ear of Eaglenose, we will return to the Indian camp, where, after the council, a sumptuous feast of venison steaks and marrow-bones was spread in Bounding Bull’s wigwam.

Moonlight not being one of the party, and having already supped, said to her mother that she was going to find Skipping Rabbit and have a run with her.  You see, Moonlight, although full seventeen years of age, was still so much of a child as to delight in a scamper with her little friend, the youngest child of Bounding Bull.

“Be careful, my child,” said Brighteyes.  “Keep within the sentinels; you know that the great Blackfoot is on the war-path.”

“Mother,” said Moonlight, with the spirit of her little father stirring in her breast, “I don’t fear Rushing River more than I do the sighing of the wind among the pine-tops.  Is not my father here, and Whitewing?  And does not Bounding Bull guard our wigwams?”

Brighteyes said no more.  She was pleased with the thorough confidence her daughter had in her natural protectors, and quietly went on with the moccasin which she was embroidering with the dyed quills of the porcupine for Little Tim.

We have said that Moonlight was rather self-willed.  She would not indeed absolutely disobey the express commands of her father or mother, but when she had made no promise, she was apt to take her own way, not perceiving that to neglect or to run counter to a parent’s known wishes is disobedience.

As the night was fine and the moon bright, our self-willed heroine, with her skipping playmate, rambled about the camp until they got so far in the outskirts as to come upon one of the sentinels.  The dark-skinned warrior gravely told her to go back.  Had she been any other Indian girl, she would have meekly obeyed at once; but being Little Tim’s daughter, she was prone to assert the independence of her white blood, and, to say truth, the young braves stood somewhat in awe of her.

“The Blackfoot does not make war against women,” said Moonlight, with a touch of lofty scorn in her tone.  “Is the young warrior afraid that Rushing River will kill and eat us?”

“The young warrior fears nothing,” answered the sentinel, with a dark frown; “but his chief’s orders are that no one is to leave or enter the camp, so Moonlight must go home.”

“Moonlight will do as she pleases,” returned the girl loftily.  At the same time, knowing that the man would certainly do his duty, and prevent her from passing the lines, she turned sharply round, and walked away as if about to return to the camp.  On getting out of the sentinel’s sight, however, she stopped.

“Now, Skipping Rabbit,” she said, “you and I will teach that fellow something of the art of war.  Will you follow me?”

“Will the little buffalo follow its mother?” returned the child.

“Come, then,” said Moonlight, with a slight laugh; “we will go beyond the lines.  Do as I do.  You are well able to copy the snake.”

The girl spoke truly.  Both she and Skipping Rabbit had amused themselves so often in imitating the actions of the Indian braves that they could equal if not beat them, at least in those accomplishments which required activity and litheness of motion.  Throwing herself on her hands and knees, Moonlight crept forward until she came again in sight of the sentinel.  Skipping Rabbit followed her trail like a little shadow.  Keeping as far from the man as possible without coming under the observation of the next sentinel, they sank into the long grass, and slowly wormed their way forward so noiselessly that they were soon past the lines, and able to rise and look about with caution.

The girl had no thought of doing more than getting well out of the camp, and then turning about and walking boldly past the young sentinel, just to show that she had defeated him, but at Skipping Rabbit’s suggestion she led the way to a neighbouring knoll just to have one look round before going home.

It was on this very knoll that Rushing River and Eaglenose lay, like snakes in the grass.

As the girls drew near, chatting in low, soft, musical tones, the two men lay as motionless as fallen trees.  When they were within several yards of them the young Indian glanced at his chief, and pointed with his conveniently prominent feature to Skipping Rabbit.  A slight nod was the reply.

On came the unconscious pair, until they almost trod on the prostrate men.  Then, before they could imagine what had occurred, each found herself on the ground with a strong hand over her mouth.

It was done so suddenly and effectually that there was no time to utter even the shortest cry.

Without removing their hands for an instant from their mouths, the Indians gathered the girls in their left arms as if they had been a couple of sacks or bundles, and carried them swiftly into the forest, the chief leading, and Eaglenose stepping carefully in his footsteps.  It was not a romantic or lover-like way of carrying off a bride, but Red Indian notions of chivalry may be supposed to differ from those of the pale-faces.

After traversing the woods for several miles they came to the spot where Rushing River had left his men.  They were unusually excited by the unexpected capture, and, from their animated gestures and glances during the council of war which was immediately held, it was evident to poor Moonlight that her fate would soon be decided.

She and Skipping Rabbit sat cowering together at the foot of the tree where they had been set down.  For one moment Moonlight thought of her own lithe and active frame, her powers of running and endurance, and meditated a sudden dash into the woods, but one glance at the agile young brave who had been set to watch her would have induced her to abandon the idea even if the thought of leaving Skipping Rabbit behind had not weighed with her.

In a few minutes Rushing River left his men and approached the tree at the foot of which the captives were seated.

The moon shone full upon his tall figure, and revealed distinctly every feature of his grave, handsome countenance as he approached.

The white spirit of her father stirred within the maiden.  Discarding her fears, she rose to meet him with a proud glance, such as was not often seen among Indian girls.  Instead of being addressed, however, in the stern voice of command with which a red warrior is apt to speak to an obstreperous squaw, he spoke in a low, soft respectful tone, which seemed to harmonise well with the gravity of his countenance, and thrilled to the heart of Moonlight.  She was what is familiarly expressed in the words “done for.”  Once more we have to record a case of love at first sight.

True, the inexperienced girl was not aware of her condition.  Indeed, if taxed with it, she would probably have scorned to admit the possibility of her entertaining even mild affection-much less love-for any man of the Blackfoot race.  Still, she had an uneasy suspicion that something was wrong, and allowed an undercurrent of feeling to run within her, which, if reduced to language, would have perhaps assumed the form, “Well, but he is so gentle, so respectful, so very unlike all the braves I have ever seen; but I hate him, for all that!  Is he not the enemy of my tribe?”

Moonlight would not have been a daughter of Little Tim had she given in at once.  Indeed, if she had known that the man who spoke to her so pleasantly was the renowned Rushing River-the bitter foe of her father and of Bounding Bull-it is almost certain that the indignant tone and manner which she now assumed would have become genuine.  But she did not know this; she only knew from his dress and appearance that the man before her was a Blackfoot, and the knowledge raised the whole Blackfoot race very much in her estimation.

“Is the fair-faced maiden,” said Rushing River, referring to the girl’s comparatively light complexion, “willing to share the wigwam of a Blackfoot chief?”

Moonlight received this very decided and unusually civil proposal of marriage with becoming hauteur, for she was still ruffled by the undignified manner in which she had been carried off.

“Does the fawn mate with the wolf?” she demanded.  “Does the chief suppose that the daughter of Little Tim can willingly enter the lodge of a Blackfoot?”

A gleam of surprise and satisfaction for a moment lighted up the grave countenance of the chief.

“I knew not,” he replied, “that the maiden who has fallen into my hands is a child of the brave little pale-face whose deeds of courage are known all over the mountains and prairies.”

This complimentary reference to her father went far to soften the maiden’s heart, but her sense of outraged dignity required that she should be loyal to herself as well as to her tribe, therefore she sniffed haughtily, but did not reply.

“Who is the little one?” asked the chief, pointing to Skipping Rabbit, who, in a state of considerable alarm, had taken refuge behind her friend, and only peeped at her captor.

Moonlight paused for a few seconds before answering, uncertain whether it would be wiser to say who she was, or merely to describe her as a child of the tribe.  Deciding on the former course, in the hope of impressing the Blackfoot with a sense of his danger, she said-

“Skipping Rabbit is the daughter of Bounding Bull.”  Then, observing another gleam of surprise and triumph on the chief’s face, she added quickly, “and the Blackfoot knows that Bounding Bull and his tribe are very strong, very courageous, and very revengeful.  If Moonlight and Skipping Rabbit are not sent home at once, there will be war on the mountains and the plains, for Whitewing, the great chief of the prairies, is just now in the camp of Bounding Bull with his men.  Little Tim, as you know, is terrible when his wrath is roused.  If war is carried into the hunting-grounds of the Blackfeet, many scalps will be drying in our lodges before the snows of winter begin to descend.  If evil befalls Skipping Rabbit or Moonlight, before another moon is passed Rushing River himself, the chicken-hearted chief of the Blackfeet, will be in the dust with his fathers, and his scalp will fringe the leggings of Little Tim.”

We have given but a feeble translation of this speech, which in the Indian tongue was much more powerful; but we cannot give an adequate idea of the tone and graceful gesticulation of the girl as, with flashing orbs and heightened colour, she delivered it.  Yet it seemed to have no effect whatever on the man to whom it was spoken.  Without replying to it, he gently, almost courteously, took the maiden’s hand, and led her to a spot where his men were stationed.

They were all on horseback, ready for an immediate start.  Two horses without riders stood in the midst of the group.  Leading Moonlight to one of these, Rushing River lifted her by the waist as if she had been a feather, and placed her thereon.  Skipping Rabbit he placed in front of Eaglenose.  Then, vaulting on to his own steed, he galloped away through the forest, followed closely by the whole band.

Now it so happened that about the same hour another band of horsemen started from the camp of Bounding Bull.

Under the persuasive eloquence of Little Tim, the chief had made up his mind to set out for the fortress without waiting for daylight.

“You see,” Tim had said, “we can’t tell whether the preacher is goin’ to live or die, an’ it would be a pity to risk lettin’ him miss seein’ the old woman and my wife if he is goin’ to die; an’ if he isn’t goin’ under this time, why, there’s no harm in hurryin’ a bit-wi’ the moon, too, shinin’ like the bottom of a new tin kettle in the sky.”

The chief had no objections to make.  There were plenty of men to guard the camp, even when a few were withdrawn for the trip.  As Whitewing was also willing, the order to mount and ride was given at once.

The absence of Moonlight and Skipping Rabbit had not at the time been sufficiently prolonged to attract notice.  If they had been thought of at all, it is probable they were supposed to be in one or other of the wigwams.  As the moon could not be counted on beyond a certain time, haste was necessary, and thus it came to pass that the party set forth without any knowledge of the disappearance of the girls.

The “dear old one” was fain to journey like the rest on horseback, but she was so well accustomed to that mode of locomotion that she suffered much less than might have been expected.  Besides, her son had taken care to secure for her the quietest, meekest, and most easy-going horse belonging to the tribe-a creature whose natural spirit had been reduced by hardship and age to absolute quiescence, and whose gait had been trained down to something like a hobby-horse amble.

Seated astride of this animal, in gentleman fashion, the mother of Whitewing swayed gently to and fro like a partially revived mummy of an amiable type, with her devoted son on one side and Little Tim on the other, to guard against accidents.

It chanced that the two parties of horsemen journeyed in nearly opposite directions, so that every hour of the night separated them from each other more and more.

It was not until Whitewing’s party had proceeded far on their way to Tim’s Folly that suspicion began to be aroused and inquiry to be made in the camp.  Then, as the two girls were nowhere to be found, the alarm spread; the warriors sallied out, and the trail of the Blackfeet was discovered.  It was not, however, until daylight came to their aid that the Indians became fully aware of their loss, and sent out a strong band in pursuit of their enemies, while a messenger was despatched in hot haste to inform Little Tim and Bounding Bull that Moonlight and Skipping Rabbit had been spirited away.