“Come!” he said. “Brown Eyes is very beautiful. It is too bad that she is to enter the lodge of Crazy Snake, who has a wife already.” He was speaking to himself, for his words were Blackfoot, and she did not understand them. “Brown Eyes is too beautiful to be the squaw of Crazy Snake. She should mate with a younger warrior. Is it meet that winter should marry summer? Brown Eyes is young, and she is beautiful.” He stopped and stood facing her, feasting his eyes on her beauty. There was something in his look that terrified her. She tried to break away from him, but again he caught her by the wrist and pulled her along when she resisted. “Come!” he said, and this time he spoke in English. “We go fast. Blackfoot town long, long way. Crazy Snake say we go fast.” CHAPTER XXII. WIND FLOWER. Crazy Snake had told the young chief that pursuit might be expected, and that was why he was so anxious to hurry on. He felt sure that soon the dreaded Long Hair, as Buffalo Bill was called, would be on his trail. Buffalo Bill’s reputation as a long-distance shot, as a trailer, and as an enemy whose cunning and skill were marvelous, was great among the Blackfeet. Because of his fear of pursuit Lightfoot stopped now and then to listen. Occasionally, where a small hill invited, he ascended it, dragging the girl with him, and scanned the surrounding country. Crazy Snake had disappeared, and even the river was not now visible, though the black cliff walls of the cañon could be seen. Finally the young chief gained the point where he had left his horse hidden. Lena Forest was almost exhausted by that time, through fear and the exertions she had been forced to put forth. Lightfoot had been merciless in dragging her on, over obstructions, across chasms and rocky tracts, and through bushy districts where thorny shrubs tore her clothing and lacerated her body. Several times she had dropped down in sheer weakness and desperation; but at such times he had assumed the ferocity of the old chief himself, and, drawing his hatchet, he had threatened her until she had risen and stumbled on again. When the little grove was gained where his horse had been left, Lightfoot was given a shock of surprise. The horse was gone. He looked about in fear and anger, his black eyes searching for footprints of a thief and the hoofmarks of the horse. A rippling laugh, strange and wild, came to him from a little distance. Lena Forest looked toward the point whence it emanated, and was astounded to see an Indian girl rise there from behind a rock and come forward. The girl seemed amused when first she appeared; but a frown was on her brown face as she approached the girl prisoner and the young chief. “The Wind Flower!” gasped the young chief, speaking below his breath. “What does she here?” “Oh, mighty chief,” she said in mockery, “where is thy horse? I see it not. The eagles must have carried it away!”