then, when they git our people to thinkin' peace, they'll jump on our settlements, the whole ragin' army uv 'em, with tomahawk an'
knife.A white man named John Butler is to command 'em."Paul shuddered.
"I've heard of him," he said."They called him 'Indian' Butler at Pittsburgh.He helped lead the Indians in that terrible battle of the Oriskany last year.And they say he's got a son, Walter Butler, who is as bad as he is, and there are other white leaders of the Indians, the Johnsons and Claus.""'Pears ez ef we would be needed," said Tom Ross.
"I don't think we ought to hurry," said Henry.The more we know about the Indian plans the better it will be for the Wyoming people.We've a safe and comfortable hiding place here, and we can stay and watch the Indian movements.""Suits me," drawled Shif'less Sol."My legs an' arms are still stiff from them deerskin thongs an' ez Long Jim is here now to wait on me I guess I'll take a rest from travelin.""You'll do all your own waitin' on yourself," rejoined Long Jim;'an I'm afraid you won't be waited on so Pow'ful well, either, but a good deal better than you deserve."They lay on the islet several days, meanwhile keeping a close watch on the Indian camp.They really had little to fear except from hunting parties, as the region was far from any settled portion of the country, and the Indians were not likely to suspect their continued presence.But the hunters were numerous, and all the squaws in the camp were busy jerking meat.It was obvious that the Indians were preparing for a great campaign, but that they would take their own time.Most of the scouting was done by Henry and Sol, and several times they lay in the thick brushwood and watched, by the light of the fires, what was passing in the Indian camp.
On the fifth night after the rescue of Long Jim, Henry and Shif'less Sol lay in the covert.It was nearly midnight, but the fires still burned in the Indian camp, warriors were polishing their weapons, and the women were cutting up or jerking meat.
While they were watching they heard from a point to the north the sound of a voice rising and failing in a kind of chant.
"Another war party comin'," whispered Shif'less Sol, "an' singin'
about the victories that they're goin' to win.""But did you notice that voice?" Henry whispered back." It's not a man's, it's a woman's.""Now that you speak of it, you're right," said Shif'less Sol.
"It's funny to hear an Injun woman chantin' about battles as she comes into camp.That's the business o' warriors.""Then this is no ordinary woman," said Henry.
"They'll pass along that trail there within twenty yards of us, Sol, and we want to see her.""So we do," said Sol, "but I ain't breathin' while they pass."They flattened themselves against the earth until the keenest eye could not see them in the darkness.All the time the singing was growing louder, and both remained, quite sure that it was the voice of a woman.The trail was but a short distance away, and the moon was bright.The fierce Indian chant swelled, and presently the most.singular figure that either had ever seen came into view.
The figure was that of an Indian woman, but lighter in color than most of her kind.She was middle-aged, tall, heavily built, and arrayed in a strange mixture of civilized and barbaric finery, deerskin leggins and moccasins gorgeously ornamented with heads, a red dress of European cloth with a red shawl over it, and her head bare except for bright feathers, thrust in her long black hair, which hung loosely down her back.She held in one hand a large sharp tomahawk, which she swung fiercely in time to her song.Her face had the rapt, terrible expression of one who had taken some fiery and powerful drug, and she looked neither to right nor to left as she strode on, chanting a song of blood, and swinging the keen blade.
