Stella did not think so, and determined to speak to Singing Bird about it at the first good opportunity.
One day the chance came as they were walking together in a wood near which they had camped.
"What is the matter with you, sister?" asked Stella kindly. "Is it that you are not satisfied with our ways, and that you want to leave us?"
Singing Bird looked at her with troubled eyes, in which the tears soon began to well up.
"My sister knows that I love her," she said, "and that I would not leave her unless she wishes me to."
She looked at Stella inquiringly.
"No, I want you to stay. But if you are troubled, you must tell me as one sister would tell another."
"I will tell you," said the Indian girl simply, "and I would have told you long ago, only that I did not want to trouble you, nor make trouble for any one else in the camp."
"What do you mean by making trouble for any one else in the camp?"
"I mean that the new man who drives the cows is a bad man. Beware of him."
"You mean the man called Woofer?"
"Yes, it is he whom I mean. He is the traitor, and he doesn't like the master, Ted Strong."
"How do you know that?"
"From what he has said to me. He is the bad man."
"But tell me all about it. I didn't know that he had talked to you, even. Why did you not tell me this before?"
"The white man threatened to kill me if I told."
"Now you must tell me all."
"We will sit down here, for there is much to tell."
Singing Bird took a seat upon a fallen tree, and Stella sat down beside her.
"Proceed," said Stella, "and leave nothing out."
"When he first came to the camp, I wished he would not stay," began Singing Bird, "but every one seemed to think he was the good man, and who am I to say anything against the wishes of my friends who saved my life and made me a home?"
"Did you know him then?"
"Yes. I have seen him at the white soldiers' fort. He is the friend of Running Bear. He is a bad man, who steals other men's cattle."
"But he brought ours back to us."
"That was a trick to get into your camp. He is as cunning as a bad Indian. One day he came to me when no one was about, and told me that he had seen my husband, Running Bear, and that I must go back to him. I was frightened, but told him I would not do so. Then he begged me to tell him the secret I have. I told him I could not do it."
"You have never told me that secret."
"But I will. Always I have intended to do so."
"When you are ready. But go on."
"Then he told me that if I would tell him the secret he would marry me himself." The Indian girl flushed. "You know, sister, that it is a great thing for an Indian girl to marry a white man."
"But you are already the wife of Running Bear," said Stella, who was puzzled.
"That is the Indian marriage, and soon broken. But when I told him I didn't want to marry him, he got very angry. I told him I was going to stay with you, and he said that if I did I would be killed with all the rest of you; that it was coming, and that Mr. Strong had many enemies who were stronger than all of you."
"Did he hint when this was going to take place?"
"Yes, when we get to the Far North."
"Did he say anything else?"
"He told me that if I didn't go with him to-night he would kill me when I slept."
"We shall see about that," said Stella spiritedly. "But why is all this fuss being made about you and your secret? It must be something very important."
"Yes, to the white man, but not to the Indian."
"Then why did Running Bear shoot you because you would not tell him?"
"He wanted to sell the secret to a white man for whisky."
"Who is the white man? Do you know?"
"Yes. But I do not like to tell."
"You have told me so much, you must tell me the rest."
"The white man is a soldier at the fort."
"A common soldier?"
"No, a chief, who carries a sword."
"Oh, an officer. What is his name?"
"He is called Barrows."
"Oh! And he offered Running Bear whisky for your secret? That is bad."
"Yes. Chief Barrows wants the secret, and he has sent the man who drives cows here to make me tell it."
"Singing Bird, you must tell me the secret."
"I will."
Stella settled herself to hear the Indian girl's story.
"It began when I was a little child," said Singing Bird. "One time when my father's tribe was hunting, we came to a place where a lot of white men were digging in the sands of the big, muddy river."
"Was that the Missouri?"
"The white men call it so. We camped beside them, and one day I saw them washing out of the sand little grains of yellow metal, which they thought much of, although the Indians would rather have iron, the black metal."
"They were hunting for gold."
"Yes. In their talk with my father they said that somewhere up the river was the mother of the gold, where all this came from. They asked my father if he knew where it was.
"Now, my father had found where there was plenty of the yellow metal. But he, too, was shrewd, and, seeing that the white men prized it so highly, he thought he would go back and get the gold, and sell it to the white men for iron and shot and powder and blankets.
"The white men guessed that he knew where the mother of gold was, and asked him. But he refused to tell them, and went away.
"The white men followed us for days. One evening I was with my mother, and heard my father tell her where the yellow metal was on the opposite side of the river, pointing to a great sycamore tree that grew on the river bank. 'Beneath that tree lies much of the yellow metal,' he said to her, and I saw the tree, and knew what he said was true.
"That night the white men came to our camp and had a long talk with my father, trying to make him tell where the mother gold was, and, when he would not, suddenly they fell upon the camp, and, after killing some of the young men, drove my father and the others away. At the first shot my mother ran away into the woods with me."
"That was horrible," interjected Stella.
"As my mother ran, she was shot in the back, but she kept on running until she was out of sight before she fell.
"Then the white men went away, and I lay there with my mother until she breathed no more and was cold.
"I cried for a long time because it was dark and cold, and I could hear the wild animals in the woods all about me.
"This frightened me, and I began to call 'Ai-i-e!' which is the Indian way of lamentation, and I cried louder all the time to keep the wild animals from me."
"And did no one hear you?"
"Yes. In the night I heard a noise in the wood, and it was the noise of a man walking, an Indian man, for it was soft, made by moccasins. Then I cried louder, and soon my father came and picked both me and my mother up in his arms and carried us away into the woods, where he buried my mother, and went away into the North again.
"But as I grew up, I thought often about the mother gold and the place where it was hidden by the Great Spirit, for so I had heard my father say. Once when I spoke of it to my father he told me never to speak of it to him again, for it was cursed, having taken away from him his son, who was killed by the white men, and my mother.
"So never did I talk of it. But when Running Bear heard of it from some of the old men who had been with my father, and heard that I was the only one of all the tribe who knew where it was, he began to court me, and then bought me of my father for twenty ponies.
"We had not been married long when he asked me to take him to the place of gold, but my father told me not to do so, and I did not. Then he began to beat me, and tried to kill me, but the secret is still mine.
"In time others heard that I possessed the great secret of the hiding place of the mother gold, for when Running B
ear was drunk he would boast that his squaw was the richest woman in the world, because of her secret, and many men have tried to get it from me. Then the army chief, who carries the sword, got hungry for the gold, and gave Running Bear plenty of whisky to make me tell where it was, and now he has sent Woofer to make me tell, or to kill me."
"Will you tell Ted Strong where the mother gold is hidden?" asked Stella.
"I will, if you wish me to. But it is accursed."
"Nonsense. That is only a superstition. Now that you have told me, all will be well. Be careful, and do not let Woofer see you alone, and if he lays his hand on you, scream for me. We will now go back to the camp."
As the two girls walked away with their arms around one another's waists, a tall, gaunt man rose from behind a dead tree not far away, and over his face spread a shrewd smile.
It was Woofer.
* * *
CHAPTER XXXII.
A NIGHT CHASE.
The tent occupied by Singing Bird was pitched some distance from that occupied by Mrs. Graham and the two girls, Stella and Hallie, and when she had attended to the wants of Mrs. Graham, she retired to it.
It was early in the evening, and when she saw that her friend had retired, Stella sought out Ted, and told him the story she had heard that afternoon.
At first Ted was inclined to be somewhat incredulous about Woofer's share in it as told by the Indian girl, but when he thought it over and put together certain facts which had come to his attention, and recalled questions, apparently innocent at the time they were asked, which Woofer had put to him from time to time, he began to suspect that the merry cow-puncher was, after all, merely acting a part.
Ted took Bud into consultation, and the three went over the matter carefully.
If it were true that Barrows was after the gold, he had a double cause to do injury to the broncho boys.
There could be no doubt that Barrows, by virtue of his position, was capable of being a very dangerous foe, especially in this part of the country where the boys were virtually alone, and where they had no friends, and were compelled to rely absolutely upon themselves.
That their doings were probably known to Barrows by means of a system of espionage conducted by Woofer, who, Ted now recalled, was in the habit of leaving the camp for long, solitary rides at intervals. What could be easier than when Woofer heard them talking about their plans to ride out and meet a courier sent by Barrows to get the information?
Ted resolved not only to fight Barrows with his own weapons, and to a finish, but to interfere with his plans to get the gold in the mine to which Singing Bird only could guide them.
It was necessary, therefore, to guard the Indian girl closely, and this he proposed to do, and when he had rid the camp of Woofer, and scoured the country for Barrows' spies and sent them off, he would proceed to the mine.
As it was, they were headed in the direction of the Missouri River, and it would not be at all out of their way, or interfere with their business.
Woofer was sitting with the boys around the camp fire, regaling them with stories of cow-punching in various parts of the country, and making of himself a most agreeable companion, and Ted, watching him carefully, could see nothing guilty or suspicious about him.
But that didn't prevent him from keeping his eyes open.
Gradually the camp settled down for the night.
Stella went to bed after she had peeped into the tent occupied by Singing Bird, and satisfied herself that she was sleeping quietly and safely.
One by one the boys rolled themselves in their blankets beside the fire, and dropped into deep slumber.
Woofer had said good night among the first, saying that he was very tired, and would "crawl into the wool," as he expressed it.
Only the night guard was awake, as they rode around and around the sleeping herd, their voices breaking out softly into song as a restless steer arose and sniffed the air and began to walk around.
Ted was lying in his blankets, breathing softly and deeply, evidently sound asleep.
Overhead the stars sparkled brightly, casting a radiance upon the earth that made things several feet distant perfectly observable.
Woofer's blankets had been spread at the edge of the circle farthest from the fire. Ted also slept on the outer rim, and not more than ten feet from Woofer.
It was past midnight, as Ted could tell by the stars, for he was not asleep, although feigning to be.
He lay facing the place where Woofer was circled up in his blankets, when he saw the cow-puncher raise his head cautiously, not more than an inch or two, and look around.
Ted closed his eyelids to a mere crack, for the light from the fire shone on his face, and in that position watched Woofer's movements.
Woofer was very sly and cautious. Ted had observed that he had ostentatiously pulled off his boots when he lay down. Now he could see by the movements of the blankets that he was pulling them on again out of sight.
"That fellow is going to get up in a minute," thought Ted, "and I think I know just what he is going to do."
He had not long to wait, for presently Woofer crawled out of his blankets on the far side, and began to wriggle away on his belly, like a snake.
Ted still kept his eyes upon him.
Once Woofer stopped and looked back to see if his escape from camp had been observed, or if any one was stirring.
Ted had not moved, and apparently was as sound asleep as ever.
Reassured that no one had seen him leave his blankets, Woofer proceeded until he was without the radius of the camp fire's glow, when he rose to an upright position.
But Ted could still follow him by the starlight.
Evidently believing himself safe, Woofer did not again look around, but walked slowly and silently toward the tents, which were plainly to be seen about fifty feet distant from the fire.
The tent in which the Indian girl was sleeping was farther from the fire than that occupied by Mrs. Graham and her two charges.
Ted had slipped from his blankets at the moment when Woofer rose to his feet, and was creeping along, close to the ground paralleling Woofer's progress, but about twenty feet to the left.
Woofer arrived at the Indian girl's shelter and stopped, and seemed to be listening.
This gave Ted time to creep nearer.
He saw the cow-puncher lift the flap of the tent and look within, still listening carefully for anything that would tell him that Singing Bird was awake.
Ted was not more than ten feet away when Woofer disappeared.
He had entered the tent.
Suddenly from within it there came a muffled cry, then the tent began to pitch and toss. Evidently a savage struggle was going on within.
But it was all so silent that had Ted not been within striking distance of it, he would not have heard anything of it.
Suddenly the tent flew apart, and Woofer appeared, carrying in his arms the insensible form of the Indian girl.
Woofer was a very powerful man, and he ran swiftly from the tent bearing the girl in his arms as if she were a child.
Ted dashed after him. It did not occur to him to raise an alarm.
But as swiftly as he ran, Woofer had the better of him, for a few strides took him out of Ted's sight.
Ted stopped and listened, blaming himself for not closing with Woofer sooner.
Not a sound of Woofer's retreat came to his ears.
Suddenly he heard a nicker at his elbow almost, and looked around. It was Sultan, who had smelled him, and had come to him, and was now rubbing his velvety nose against Ted's sleeve.
In an inspiration Ted leaped upon his back, and caught the headstall, which he always left on Sultan when he turned him loose in the night so that he could get him in a hurry should there be a night alarm of any sort.
An idea came to him as soon as he felt Sultan under him.
Woofer undoubtedly had thought to have a horse saddled and ready waiting for him somewhere near the camp. If he could only get Sult
an to call to it and get an answer, he would soon find him.
He had no sooner conceived the thought when Sultan whinneyed like a trumpet call.
From a distance came an answering cry. It was the voice of Magpie, and Ted knew it well. Stella's little black-and-white mare and Sultan were the greatest friends, and when she heard him call, she replied.
Woofer was about to steal the most valuable and swiftest of the animals, except Sultan. That was another reason why Ted was now so keen on the chase. He turned Sultan's head in the direction of Magpie's call, and the little stallion galloped away like the wind.
Ted had no bridle, but that was not necessary, for he and Sultan understood one another so well that a slight pressure of the rider's knees was all the guidance the horse needed.
Again came Magpie's shrill call, and this time Sultan nickered and fairly flew. Somewhere ahead, in the darkness, Ted heard for the first time the hoofbeats of the pony, and knew that Woofer had reached it and was away.
"Follow her; catch her, Sultan," called Ted, and Sultan seemed to understand, and let himself out to his full stride, although he missed the firm, guiding hand on the bridle.
Magpie was put to her utmost, but she was heavily handicapped by carrying double for a race against Sultan, who was not even burdened by the heavy saddle he usually bore.
So it was that Sultan steadily gained on the little mare, who was not disposed to do her utmost even under whip and spur, which Woofer did not spare.
They were now racing in the dark along the ridge of a deep coulee, the wall on the right of which went down steeply to a depth of thirty or more feet.
Ted could not see the way, but he knew that they were riding a perilous path, and that a slip of the foot or a rolling rock might cost them their lives.
But he knew Sultan's feet were sure, and that unless an accident which could not be avoided took place, they were safe.
He had so gained on Woofer that he could now see him dimly outlined against the sky in advance of him.
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