He looked about him for Bentley Morris. He was standing near the center of the camp, bound to a small tree. Ben began to despair. How was it possible, alone and unaided, to free him from the hands of the enemy? Some time he sat in the tree. Indians passed and repassed. Several of them stood for a few minutes beneath the tree, and conversed in low tones. Ben was in doubt. Was it possible that Jules Damand had turned traitor? His heart sunk at the thought that he had left Millicent under such a guard. No, impossible that Jules could play false. He had no motive for treachery--he could gain nothing, but would lose every thing, by desertion. So the honest old hunter disposed of _that_ suspicion. There were several young squaws in the camp, as is generally the case with a hunting-party. Their not unmusical voices could be heard calling to each other and singing snatches of Indian songs. A greater tumult arose. Looking to the east, Ben was conscious that a dark mass was beginning to show itself upon the prairie, miles away. This dark mass was no strange sight to Ben Miffin. He had seen it a hundred times before on these limitless prairies. A herd of buffalo, driven forward by the scouts of the Indian band, who had been beating the prairie for game. The greatest excitement immediately ensued in the Indian camp. Half the warriors vaulted upon their horses’ backs without orders; the rest, more orderly, waited the movements of the chief. Whirling Breeze threw himself into the saddle and led the way at a gallop. Not a warrior remained in the camp, with the exception of the pair who guarded the prisoner. Even these ran out of the camp, and followed the herd with their eyes, burning to be among them. The women had gone out after the warriors as fast as they could run, leaving the camp deserted for a moment. This moment was not lost by Ben Miffin. Slipping from his perch, he ran to the tree, cut the bonds upon the arms of the prisoner, and they ran together to the shelter of the trees. If they had gained them unseen, the escape might have been unnoticed for some time. But, an old woman, who had remained in the camp, caught sight of them as they ran, and raised a yell that might have done credit to a good-sized panther. This cry accelerated the fugitives’ speed, and they reached the place where the white horse was tied. “Git up,” said Ben. “What will you do?” Miffin never answered a word, but, throwing his rifle to the “trail,” ran off at a speed which awakened the admiration of the young man. As he hesitated, an arrow whizzed near his head. Looking back, he saw his late guards coming up at a run, while the man who had fired at him was fitting another shaft to the bow. Bentley leaped into the saddle, and followed Ben, who had by this time gained several hundred yards. He laughed as he saw the guards were after them. He had no fear of any thing they could do to him unless others came to their aid.