At last, one evening he came upon them. He saw their wigwams on a little plain, which was free from shrubs and trees, although surrounded by the latter. The smoke of their fires curled up in straight columns, for the air was so still that the sound of the horses’ jaws munching their food could be distinctly heard at some distance from the camp. Quito lay down until the shades of night fell, and watched his enemies. He saw them post sentries for the night; he noted the silence that gradually stole over the scene as the savages lay down to rest, and he saw the fires die down until the whole camp was shrouded in darkness. During the hours that he watched there he lay as still as a fallen tree—only his dark eyes moved about, restlessly. At last he rose and prepared for action. Leaving his quiver and bow behind him, he took his gun and advanced—at first in a crouching attitude. He might have been a shadow, so noiseless were his motions. The edge of the forest gained, he sank into the long grass of the prairie, like a phantom, and disappeared. Thenceforth his progress was like to that of the serpent. Pushing his gun before him he gradually worked his way forward until he had passed the line of sentries and gained the midst of the camp. Here his proceedings were cool and daring. He first crawled among the horses, and made up his mind as to which two of them were the best. Then he went to the chief’s tent, and, gently raising the curtain of skin, looked in. His enemy was there sound asleep. He could have stabbed him to the heart, as he lay, with such deadly certainty, that he would have died without being able to utter a cry, but Quito’s object was to rescue, not to avenge. He observed that the chief lay alone in his tent. A grim smile crossed the Indian’s face as he lowered the curtain and again sank among the grass. There was a large tent near to that of the chief, and Quito knew that there were women in it, but whether or not his wife was there he had not been able to ascertain from his distant view-point in the woods. Raising the edge of this tent, he found that it was full of slumbering women, but it required a close inspection of their faces in the dark to ascertain who they were—so close that his face almost touched that of the first woman he looked at. His heart throbbed, for he thought he recognised the features of Laughing-eye. Just then the sleeper drew a long breath and sighed, and Quito knew that it was his lost one. He also guessed that the others were the women of his own tribe, but he knew that it would be impossible for him, single-handed, to save them at that time. To save his wife would be difficult enough, he thought. Putting his face close to that of Laughing-eye, he heaved a long-drawn sigh, and yawned pretty loudly, imitating a woman’s voice as much as possible, and giving his wife a push. She half awoke, and, turning round in a sleepy way, muttered a few unintelligible words.