wasted no more time with words, but ran towards the hollow where his
steed had been hobbled, that is, the two front legs tied together so as
to admit of moderate freedom without the risk of desertion.

He was closely followed by his friend Little Tim, who, knowing well the
red man's staid and self-possessed character, was somewhat surprised to
see by his flashing eyes and quick breathing that he was unusually
excited.

"Whitewing is anxious," he said, as they ran together.

"The woman whom I love better than life is in Bald Eagle's camp," was
the brief reply.

"Oho!" thought Little Tim, but he spoke no word, for he knew his friend
to be extremely reticent in regard to matters of the heart. For some
time he had suspected him of what he styled a weakness in that organ.
"Now," thought he, "I know it."

"Little Tim will go with me?" asked the Indian, as they turned into the
hollow where the horses had been left.

"Ay, Whitewing," answered the trapper, with a touch of enthusiasm;
"Little Tim will stick to you through thick and thin, as long as--"

An exclamation from the Indian at that moment stopped him, for it was
discovered that the horses were not there. The place was so open that
concealment was not possible. The steeds of both men had somehow got
rid of their hobbles and galloped away.

A feeling of despair came over the Indian at this discovery. It was
quickly followed by a stern resolve. He was famed as being the fleetest
and most enduring brave of his tribe. He would _run_ home.

Without saying a word to his friend, he tightened his belt, and started
off like a hound loosed from the leash. Little Tim ran a few hundred
yards after him at top speed, but suddenly pulled up.

"Pooh! It's useless," he exclaimed. "I might as well run after a
streak o' greased lightnin'. Well, well, women have much to answer for!
Who'd iver have thowt to see Whitewing shook off his balance like that?
It strikes me I'll sarve him best by lookin' after the nags."

While the trapper soliloquised thus he ran back to the camp to get one
of the Indian horses, wherewith to go off in search of his own and that
of his friend. He found the Indians busy making preparations to ride to
the rescue of their Bald Eagle allies; but quick though these sons of
the prairie were, they proved too slow for Little Tim, who leaped on the
first horse he could lay hold of, and galloped away.

Meanwhile Whitewing ran with the fleet, untiring