"And her
heart is warm to the Pale-faces."
After a short silence Joe continued,--
"The Pawnee chiefs do not love the Pale-faces. Some of them hate
them."
"The Dark Flower knows it," answered the woman; "she is sorry. She
would help the Pale-faces if she could."
This was uttered in a low tone, and with a meaning glance of the eye.
Joe hesitated again--could he trust her? Yes; the feelings that filled
her breast and prompted her words were not those of the Indian just
now--they were those of a _mother_, whose gratitude was too full for
utterance.
"Will the Dark Flower," said Joe, catching the name she had given
herself, "help the Pale-face if he opens his heart to her? Will she
risk the anger of her nation?"
"She will," replied the woman; "she will do what she can."
Joe and his dark friend now dropped their high-sounding style of
speech, and spoke for some minutes rapidly in an undertone. It was
finally arranged that on a given day, at a certain hour, the woman
should take the four horses down the shores of the lake to its lower
end, as if she were going for firewood, there cross the creek at the
ford, and drive them to the willow bluff, and guard them till the
hunters should arrive.
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