An aged warrior, after a due period of silence,
advanced and addressed the captive.
'Ah-kre-nay is very nimble; twelve moons ago he ran like a woman from
the Sioux; to-day he ran again, but his feet forsook him.'
'Twelve moons ago,' replied the captive with exultation flashing in
his eyes, 'Ah-kre-nay was in the midst of a nest of vultures--fifty
warriors surrounded him; but the manitou blinded all their eyes, and
the Assineboin cheated their revenge.'
'But Ah-kre-nay was not alone?' said the old warrior, deeply moved at
his own question.
'The flower of the hills fled to the woods with him--her tongue was
the tongue of a lying Sioux, but her heart was that of a brave
Assineboin.'
'Where is my child?' said the old warrior, in vain endeavouring to
penetrate the mystery of the hut's contents, and dropping his
figurative language under the influence of excitement--'say, Son of
the Evening Light, where is my child?'
The warrior gazed curiously at the old man; but folding his arms,
made no reply.
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