“I have a far more important errand,” said the scout. “Not that I am interested in?” she asked. “Perhaps so; listen: Several weeks ago a brave young soldier, recently married to a girl almost as lovely as yourself, went out to ride from the fort. They never came back, and their people and the Great Father at Washington are grieved because of it. “For many days the pony soldiers and walkaheaps have searched the plain for the missing ones. Now the Great Father has asked me to try to find the young lieutenant. I have traced him thus far. That is my mission here. Little Moonbeam, can you give me any word of encouragement or tell me anything of their fate?” The girl stood blushing and paling. She was manifestly disturbed by Pa-e-has-ka’s recital; but she calmed herself with an effort, and replied in a low voice: “Pa-e-has-ka has done well to trace the lost soldier and his bride so far. If his trailers should be able to discover it in the much-trodden soil beyond, it would lead him on. But Pa-e-has-ka will do well to turn back and wait with patience.” “Can Little Moonbeam tell me if both are alive?” the scout insisted. “Both are alive, although the brave young soldier was pitifully wounded. But he is recovering, and some day will be allowed to go back with his bride to their people.” “May I ask you more?” queried the scout. “No more now,” she answered. “Go back to the soldier village, and come again when the moon is round, and I will tell you more.” “And Black Coyote and the child?” “Give no further thought to them; they shall not suffer.” “I thank you, Miss Mona, for what you have done, and I wish you to remember to call on Buffalo Bill or any of his pards, if you are ever in trouble or we can in any way be of service to you. Do not hesitate, especially if you should desire to visit the outside world; then our advice might save you from many pitfalls.” “I thank you. When I meet you again I may have a request to make, or, at least, may wish to ask your advice concerning the future. Good-by.” She turned away, and the scout and his pards led their steeds out of the cleft and rode away. They had proceeded barely a hundred rods when, looking back, they saw Little Moonbeam waving to them from the mountain top. “Wouldn’t thet make yer guess some?” exclaimed Nomad. “I’d like ter see little Yaller Hair when she flies up thar!” “Don’t be impatient, Nick. We are getting acquainted much faster than we expected. Perhaps she will give us an exhibition of her aërial prowess some day. Restrain yourself, pard; she is too rare a bird for any of our cages.” “Thet’s all right, Buffler; but when I see er bird thet I cyant ketch, et do my eyes good ter look at um.” “I think,” observed the scout quietly, “that we are to have a long, hard ride to-night.” “What’s ther sign, Buffler?”