“They have great guns at the big wigwam which make a hole like this,” said he gravely. “This is a white man’s work. It is not a rifle.” “Can a white man carry a great gun on his back?” said another Indian, in the dress of a chief. “I can not understand. Some medicine-man has taken the life of the big bear of the hills. It is no common gun.” “Wah-be-o-win says well. All the white men are great medicine. My race pass away before them like trees before their axes. But Whirling Breeze will not live long enough to see the work done. While he is alive, there will be war between his people and the white men.” “Why should we not make peace?” said a chief who had not spoken before. “Why should we fight against those who are stronger? I have been to the forts and I have been to the towns by the big water. They have talking-houses which make them flour, and guns and powder. They took me into these talking-houses, and showed me what was done. Why not be friends with them, since they be stronger than we?” “Peace, Red Arm,” said Whirling Breeze, angrily. “The Blackfeet shall never bow the knee to the white men. They will die one by one, but they will never yield to the destroyer.” “Let us find those who have done this,” said the chief, Wah-be-o-win. “We will take their scalps as a beginning.” Whirling Breeze gave a signal, and all the braves bounded into the saddle and rode away down the pass. Ben stretched out his head and watched them anxiously. There were two passes through the hills, and if the Indians would only take the wrong one it would give the whites a chance to run down and apprise their comrades of the danger. A moment of breathless suspense, and the party turned into the pass leading to the hunter’s camp. “It’s all up,” said Ben. “Poor Jule is done fer, an’ that young chap Bentley. Come down, Jan. We must get out of the way as soon as possible. The durned thieves won’t be long gutting the concern.” The old trapper helped Millicent from the tree. Jan came down in great haste and followed Ben’s lead. He turned into the second pass before mentioned, and hurried down it half a mile. No concealment of the trail was attempted; but at last they reached a place where there was a break in the rocky sides of the cañon, and up this went the men, with their guns at a “right shoulder shift,” using one hand to assist them in climbing. Ben looked back once at Jan. All traces of fear had left his face, and his compressed lips told of a steadfast determination. Ben nodded, and muttered to himself. Millicent followed them bravely, pale, but evidently not from fear. “He’ll do; I’ll cure him,” muttered Ben, “an’ the gal is good grit, too.”