“I understand it all, Baptiste; it seems to be a bold, well–devised plan, if War–Eagle is only correct in his guess at their intentions: meanwhile let us post our sentries, and get what sleep we can, for to–morrow may be a busy day.” They accordingly divided their party into watches, Baptiste and Perrot with one Indian taking the first, and Reginald undertaking the charge of the second. The night was gloomy, and few stars were visible through the thick clouds, by which the heavens were overspread; the men were partially sheltered by some stunted alder–bushes which grew by the side of the stream with whose waters they had cooled their thirst, and those who were not destined to the first watch soon fell asleep, lulled by the distant howling of a hungry pack of prairie–wolves. Towards the close of Reginald’s watch, about an hour before daybreak, a dusky figure glided with noiseless step towards the encampment; the young man cocked his rifle, in order to be prepared against surprise, but in the next moment recognised the commanding form of his friend, and hailed him by name. “Netis!” replied the chief, sitting down beside him, and wringing the water from his leggins, which had been saturated partly by the heavy dew on the long grass through which he had made his way, and partly by the streams which he had been obliged to ford. “Has my brother found a path?” inquired Reginald in a whisper; “has he been near the Dahcotah village?” “He has,” replied the chief; “he has seen their lodges.” “Can my brother find the path by which the horse–stealers will return!” “He can guess, he cannot be sure,” replied the young Indian, modestly. Here the conversation closed, and in a few minutes the little party were aroused and afoot, their leader being resolved that not a moment should be lost, as soon as there was sufficient light for pursuing the trail. When on the point of starting, Baptiste, taking War–Eagle aside, whispered in his ear a few words, on which the latter appeared to reflect seriously and somewhat in doubt: he nodded his head, however, and replied, “Well, it is good.” The guide informed Reginald that at his own request he was to accompany the party on the trail. “You see, Master Reginald,” he continued, “I am a true–scented old hound, and if these young ones run too fast, I may perhaps help ‘em at a pinch; then if we catch the scoundrels, you will be in their front, and we in their rear, and they will be as bad off as a Kentucky coon between two of old Dan Boone’s cur dogs. Remember the signals,” he added impressively, touching the bugle slung across his shoulder. “We have not practised them of late, but I have forgot none of them; they may do us a good turn here; stick close to War–Eagle, you are sworn brothers, and, according to Indian fashion, if he falls you must die with him or revenge him.”