Altsheler Joseph Alexander
The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista

Phil's roving eye lighted upon a small frame structurebuilt of slight poles, the only one in the village not ofhides. Such a building was always to be found in everyComanche village, but he did not know until later that itwas a combined medicine lodge and vapor bath house.It was spherical in shape, and securely covered withbuffalo hides. When a warrior fell seriously ill, he wasseated in this lodge, beside several heated stone ovens, onwhich water was thrown in profusion. Then, while adense, hot vapor arose, the shaman, or medicine man, practiced incantations, while men outside made music onwhistles or the Indian drums. The hot bath was ofteneffective, but the Comanche ascribed at least a part ofthe cure to the medicine man's incantations. YoungComanche men, also, often took a vapor bath before goingon the war path, thinking that it had power to protectthem from wounds.

Then Philip saw to the right a far larger buildingthan that of the vapor bath, although it was made ofdressed skins with just enough poles to support it. Thiswas the medicine lodge of the Comanche village, a buildingused for important purposes, some of which Phil wasto learn soon.

The boy did not doubt that his comrade had beentaken, and, unless killed, was even now a captive in theComanche village. He might be held in that hugemedicine lodge, and the boy's resolution strengthened to thetemper of steel. He could not go back to the trainwithout Bill Breakstone; so he would rescue him. He didnot yet have any idea how, but he would find a way.There were depths of courage in his nature of which hehimself did not know, and springing from this couragewas the belief that he would succeed.

While he yet lay in the covert he saw a band ofIndians, about a dozen in number, riding up the valley.They were apparently visitors, but they were welcomedwith loud cries. The leader of the band, a large manwith brilliant feathers in his hair, replied with a shout. IThen a horseman rode forth to meet him. Even at thedistance Phil recognized the horseman as Black Panther.He, too, was arrayed in his finest, and, as a great crowdgathered, the two chiefs slowly approached each other.When their horses were side by side, Black Pantherleaned over in his saddle, put his head on the other'sshoulder, clasped his arms around his chest, and gavehim a tremendous squeeze. The stranger returned thesalute in kind, and then the two, amid great shouts ofapproval, rode among the lodges, disappearing fromPhil's sight.

Phil watched awhile longer, but he saw nothingexcept the ordinary life of the village. Then he went backto the glen in which the horses were tethered. They werestill grazing, and Bill Breakstone had not returned. Philled them down to a little brook, let them drink, and then, after some thought, took off the lariats, coiled themaround the saddles, and turned the animals loose. Hebelieved they would stay in the glen or near it, as thepasturage was good, and the water plentiful, and thatthey could be found when needed.

Having attended to the horses, he returned to theedge of the forest and sat himself down to think out theplan of his great adventure.

It was his intention to enter the Comanche villagewithout detection, and, hard as such a task seemed tohim, it was even harder in reality. No race more warythan the Comanches ever lived. Besides the boys whohabitually watched the ponies, they had regular details ofwarriors as herdsmen. Other details served as sentriesabout the village, and the adjacent heights were alwaysoccupied by scouts. All these guards were maintainednight and day. Phil could see some of them nowpatrolling, and, knowing that any attempt of his would beimpossible in the daylight, he waited patiently for night.He had with him enough food to last for a day or two, and, choosing a place in the dense covert, he lay down.He called up now all the wilderness lore of Breakstone,Arenberg, Middleton, and the others in the train. Heknew that he must restrain all impulsiveness until theappointed time, and that he must lie without motion lestthe keen eyes of wandering warriors should see the bushesabove him moving in a direction other than that of thewind. He also laid his rifle parallel with his body, inthe position in which it could be used most quickly, andloaded the pistol. It was hardest of all to lie perfectlystill. He wished to turn over, to crawl to a new place, and his bones fairly ached, but he restrained himself.Naturally a youth of strength and determination, hismind took the mastery over his body, and held it fastand motionless among the bushes.

It was well that he controlled himself so completely.Indians came near the edge of the woods, and once someboys passed, driving a herd of ponies. But he croucheda little closer, and they went on. The day was fearfullylong. The high sun poured down a shower of verticalbeams that reached him even in the shelter of the bushes.The perspiration stood out on his brow, and his collarclung to his neck. He envied the freedom of theComanches in the villages and the easy way in whichthey went about the pleasure of savage life. Morewarriors, evidently hunters, came in. Some bore portions ofthe buffalo, and others were loaded with wild turkeys.

In these hard hours the boy learned much. He hadpassed safely through battle. But there one was borneup by the thrill and excitement of the charge, the firingand shouting and the comradeship of his fellows. Herehe was alone, silent and waiting. Enduring such as that, his will achieved new powers. A single day saw themental growth of a year or two.

The sun passed the zenith and crept slowly down thewestern heavens. Welcome shadows appeared in theeast, and the far lodges of the Comanches grew misty.Phil thought now that the village would sink into quiet, but he noticed instead a great bustle, and many peoplegoing about. Squaws bore torches which made a brightcore of flame in the increasing dusk, and Phil was quitesure now that something unusual was going to occur. Itseemed to him that the whole population of the villagewas gathering about the great medicine lodge. It mustbe the beginning of some important ceremony, and thetime to enter the Comanche village was propitious. Heinferred that on such an occasion the guard would berelaxed, at least in part, and as he heard the sound ofhundreds of voices chanting monotonously he preparedfor his great adventure.

The twilight faded, and the night came in its place, thick and dark. The sound of many voices, some singing, some talking, came clearly through the crisp, dryair. The core of light before the medicine lodgeincreased, and, by its radiance, he saw dusky figureshastening toward it to join the great group gathered there.

Phil took off his cap and hid it in the bushes. Hewould be bareheaded like the Comanches, wishing to lookas much like them as possible. Fortunately his hair hadgrown somewhat long, and his face was deeply tanned.Once he thought of stripping to the waist in Comanchefashion, but his body, protected from the sun, was white, and he would be detected instantly.

He spent a little time flexing and stretching hismuscles, because, when he first rose to his feet, he couldscarcely stand, and the blood, choked up in the arteriesand veins, tingled for lack of circulation. But thestiffness and pain soon departed, and he felt stronger thanever before in his life. Then he started.

He advanced boldly into the plain, bent very low, stopping at times to look and listen, and, also, to resthimself. More than once he lay flat upon the groundand allowed his muscles to relax. Once he saw upon hisright two Indian warriors standing upon a knoll. Theywere a part of the night guard, and their figures wereoutlined duskily against the dusky sky. Their faces werenot disclosed. But Phil knew that they were watching-watchingwith all the effectiveness of eye and ear forwhich the Indian is famous. At this point he crawled, and, in his crawling, he was so nearly flat upon hisstomach that his advance was more like a serpent's than thatof anything else.

He left the patrol behind, and then he saw another onhis left, and much nearer to him, two more warriors, whodid not occupy any knoll, but who merely walked backand forth on the flat plain. They were between him andthe great fire, and he saw them very distinctly, tall menof light copper color, with high cheek-bones and longblack hair. Both were armed with rifles, of which theComanches were beginning to obtain a supply, and theirfaces in the glow of the firelight seemed very savage andvery cruel to Phil. Now he flattened himself outentirely, and moved forward in a slow series of writhings, until he had passed them. There was an icy rim aroundhis heart until he left these two behind, but when theywere gone in the darkness his courage leaped up anew.

He now reached the eastern end of the village andcrept among the lodges. They were all deserted. Theiroccupants had gone to witness the ceremony that was nowat hand, whatever it might be. Not a woman, not achild was left. Phil stood up straight, and it was animmense relief to him to do so. It was a relief to the spiritas well as the body. He felt like a human being again, and not some creeping animal, a human being who standsupon his two feet, a human being who has a brain withwhich he thinks before he acts. It was strange, but thismere physical change gave him a further supply ofcourage and hope, as if he had already achieved his victory.

He passed between two lodges and saw a gleam beyond.It was the surface of the wide but shallow creek, showing through the dusk. The banks were five or sixfeet high, and there was a broad bed of sand extendingon either side of the water.

Phil glanced up the stream, and saw that it flowedvery close to the medicine lodge. An idea sprang up atonce in his alert brain. Here was his line of approach.He dropped softly down the bank, taking his chance ofquicksand, but finding instead that it was fairly firm tothe feet. Then, hugging the bank, he advanced withnoiseless tread toward the medicine lodge. Chance andhis own quick mind served him well. His feet did notsink more than a few inches in the sand, and the bankcontinued at its uniform height of about six feet. Hecontinued slowly, pausing on occasion to listen, becausehe could see nothing in the village. But occasional straybeams from the fires, passing over his head, fell upon thecreek, lingering there for a moment or two in a red glow.Above him on the bank, but some distance back, the firesseemed to grow, and the monotonous beat of the singinggrew louder. Phil knew that he was now very near themedicine lodge, and he paused a little longer than usual, leaning hard against the sandy bank with a sort ofinvoluntary impulse, as if he would press his body into it toescape observation.

He looked up and saw two or three boughs projectingover the bank. Then the medicine lodge was somedistance away, perhaps fifteen or twenty yards, and, therefore, the adventure would increase in peril! Anotherglance at the boughs reassured him. Perhaps there wasa little grove between the creek and the medicine lodge, and it would afford him hiding! The largest of theboughs, amply able to support his weight, was not morethan three or four feet above the bank, and, climbingcautiously the sandy slope, he grasped it and drewhimself up. Then he slid along it until he came to the crotchof the tree, where he crouched, holding his rifle in onehand.

He was right in his surmise about the grove, althoughit was narrower than he had supposed, not more thanseven or eight yards across at the utmost. But the treeswere oak, heavy-limbed and heavy-trunked, and theygrew close together. Nevertheless, the light from someof the fires showed through them, and at one side loomedthe dark mass of the medicine lodge. As nearly as hecould see, it was built directly against some of the trees.He crawled from his tree to the one next to it, and thento a third. There he stopped, and a violent fit ofshuddering seized him. The trees were occupied already.

On boughs so near that he could touch them rested aplatform of poles about eight feet long and four feetwide. The poles were tied tightly together withrawhide thongs, and over them were spread leaves, grass, and small boughs. Upon these couches rested two longfigures wrapped tightly in buffalo hide. They were thebodies of the dead. Farther on were other platforms andother bodies. Phil knew what the dark objects were. Hehad read and heard too much about Indian life to bemistaken, and, despite his power of will over self, heshuddered again and again. He surmised that these might betemporary burial platforms, as they were usually put inisolated places away from the village, but here they were, and now it occurred to him that their presence would beto his advantage. Superstition is strong among theComanches, and they would not walk under the trees thatsupported the burial platforms on their boughs.

He advanced from bough to bough until he camedirectly against the skin walls of the great medicinelodge. There he lay along a strong and horizontal boughwith his body pressed close to the wall, and a human eyeten feet away would not have seen him. Just abovePhil's head was a place where two of the buffalo hideshad not been sewn closely together, and the light fromwithin shone out. He raised his head, widened the placewith his knife, and looked down into the medicine lodge.

The boy beheld an extraordinary scene. From theroof of the lodge hung a joss or image, with the profile ofa man, rudely carved from a split log. One side of theface was painted white, and the other black. Beneath itwas a circular space about twenty feet in diameter, ropedoff and surrounded by a great crowd of people. Oldsquaws held aloft torches of pine or other wood that casta ruddy light over eager and intense faces.

A great medicine dance was about to be held; andnow the shaman, or chief medicine man, an old, darkIndian named Okapa, who for the present took precedenceover both Black Panther and his visitor, who was thegreat chief Santana, was preparing to begin. Phil couldsee Okapa clearly as he stood alone in the center of thecleared circular space, carrying in his hands a short, carved stick, like a baton. It is hard to judge anIndian's age, but Phil Bedford believed that this manmust be at least seventy. Nevertheless, despite his deeplylined and seamed face, he was erect and strong. But itwas, a cruel face, with thin, compressed lips, a largehooked nose, and jet black eyes that smoldered withdark fire. It was a face to inspire fear, and it was allthe more ominous when the light of many torches fellupon it, tinting it a deeper and darker red.

Okapa raised his hand. Save for the tense breathingof the multitude there was silence in the lodge. Phil, forgetful of all danger, pressed more closely against thebuffalo skin to see.

CHAPTER VI
THE MEDICINE LODGE

Okapa uttered a name. A young warrior, bare tothe waist, stepped forward, entering the circularspace within the ropes. He called a secondname, and a second warrior responded in like manner, then a third and fourth, and so on until his list wascomplete with twelve. These were to be the dancers.One was chosen for every one hundred persons-men, women, and children-in the band. Therefore, thisvillage had a population of twelve hundred.

The dancers, all young men, stood close together, awaiting the signal. They had been taking strangecompounds, like drugs, that the Indians make from plants, and their eyes were shining with wild light. Their bodiesalready moved in short, convulsive jerks. Any dancerwho did not respond to his name would have beendisgraced for life.

After a few moments Okapa called six more names, with a short delay after every one. Six powerfulwarriors, fully armed with rifle, tomahawk, and knife, responded, and took their position beside the ropes, butoutside the ring. They were the guard, and the guardwas always half the number of the dancers.

Now the breathing of the multitude became moreintense and heavy, like a great murmur, and Okapa handedto every one of the dancers a small whistle made of woodor bone, in the lower end of which was fastened a singletail feather of the chaparral cock or road runner, knownto the Indians as the medicine bird. The dancers putthe little whistles in their mouths, then the shamanarranged them in a circle facing the center. The crowdin the medicine lodge now pressed forward, uttering shortgasps of excitement, but the guards kept them back fromthe ropes.

To the boy at the slit between the buffalo skins it waswild, unreal, and fantastic beyond degree, some strange, mysterious ceremony out of an old world that had passed.He saw the bare chests of the warriors rising and falling, the women as eager as the men, a great mass of lightcoppery faces, all intense and bent forward to see better.He knew that the air in the medicine lodge was heavy, and that its fumes were exciting, like those of gunpowder.Parallel with the dancers, and exactly in the centerof their circle, hung the hideously carved and paintedjoss or wooden image. The twelve looked fixedly at it.

The shaman, standing on one side but within the circle, uttered a short, sharp cry. Instantly the twelve dancersbegan to blow shrilly and continuously upon theirwhistles, and they moved slowly in a circle around and aroundtoward the right, their eyes always fixed upon the joss.The multitude broke into a wild chant, keeping time tothe whistles, and around and around the dancers went.The shaman, stark naked, his whole body painted insymbols and hieroglyphics, never ceased to watch them. ToPhilip's eyes he became at once the figure of Mephistopheles.

It was difficult for Phil afterward to account for theinfluence this scene had over him. He was not withinthe medicine lodge. Where he lay outside the fresh coolair of the night blew over him. But he was unconsciousof it. He saw only the savage phantasmagoria within, and by and by he began to have some touch of thefeeling that animated the dancers and the crowd. An hour, two hours went by. Not one of the men had ceased foran instant to blow upon his whistle, nor to move slowlyaround and around the wooden image, always to theright. The dance, like the music, was monotonous, merely a sort of leaping motion, but no warriorstaggered. He kept his even place in the living circle, andon and on they went. Perspiration appeared on theirfaces and gleamed on their naked bodies. Their eyes, wild and fanatical, showed souls steeped in superstitionand the intoxication of the dance.

Many of those in the crowd shared in the fierceparoxysm of the hour, and pressed forward upon the ropes,as if to join the dancers, but the armed guard thrustthem back. The dancers, their eyes fixed on the joss, continued, apparently intending to go around the circleforever. The air in the lodge, heavy with dust and theodors of oil and paint and human beings, would havebeen intolerable to one just coming from the outside, butit only excited those within all the more.

Phil's muscles stiffened as he lay on the bough, buthis position against one of the wooden scantlings thatheld the buffalo skins in place was easy, and he did notstir. His eyes were always at the slit and he becameoppressed with a strange curiosity. How long could themen maintain the dancing and singing? He wasconscious that quite a long time had passed, three or fourhours, but there was yet no faltering. Nor did the chantof the crowd cease. Their song, as Phil learned later, ran something like this:

 
"The Comanche goes forth to war,
His arrow and bow he takes,
The shaman's blessing is on his head.
His eye is keen and his arm is strong;
He rides the plain like the wind;
His spirit is hot as the touch of fire.
The foeman fights but his strength fails;
His scalp hangs at the Comanche's belt."
 

There were four or five verses of this, but as soon asthey were all sung, the singers went back to thebeginning and sang them again and again in endlessrepetition, while the twelve little whistles shrilled out theirpiercing accompaniment. The wind began to blow outside, but Phil did not feel it. Heavy clouds and vaporswere drifting past, but he did not notice them, either.Would this incantation, for now it was nothing else, goon forever? Certainly the shaman, naked and hideouslypainted, presided with undiminished zest at this danceof the imps. He moved now and then about the circle ofdancers, noting them sharply, his eye ready for any signof wavering, whether of the spirit or the body.

Phil observed presently some shifting in the crowd ofspectators, and then a new face appeared in thecopper-colored mass. It was the face of a white man, and witha little start the boy recognized it as that of BillBreakstone. It may seem singular, but he felt a certain joy atseeing him there. He had felt sure all the while thatBreakstone was a prisoner, and now he had found him.Certainly he was in the midst of enemies. Nevertheless, the boy had gone a step forward in his search.

Breakstone was not bound-there was no need of it, asingle white man in such a crowd-and Phil thought hecould see pallor showing through his tan, but the captivebore himself bravely. Evidently he was brought forwardas a trophy, as the chant was broken for a moment ortwo, and a great shout went up when he approached, except from the dancers, who circled on and on, blowingtheir whistles, without ceasing. Okapa walked over toBreakstone and brandished a tomahawk before his face, making the sharp blade whistle in front of his nose andthen beside either cheek. Phil held his breath, but BillBreakstone folded his arms and stood immovable, lookingthe ferocious shaman squarely in the face. It was atonce the best thing and the hardest thing to do, never toflinch while a razor edge of steel flashed so close to one'sface that it felt cold as it passed.

Two or three minutes of such amusement satisfied theshaman, and, going back inside the ropes, he turned hisattention again to the dancers. It was now much pastmidnight, and the slenderest and youngest of the warriorswas beginning to show some signs of weakness. Theshaman watched him keenly. He would last a long timeyet, and if he gave up it would not occur until he fellunconscious. Then he would be dragged out, water wouldbe thrown over him, and, when he recovered, he wouldbe compelled to resume dancing if the shaman ordered it.Sometimes the dancers died of exhaustion. It was wellto be in the good graces of the shaman.

But Phil was now watching Bill Breakstone, who waspressing back in the crowd, getting as far as possiblefrom the ropes that enclosed the dancers. Once or twicehe saw Breakstone's face, and it seemed to him that heread there an intention, a summoning of his faculties andresolution for some great attempt. The mind of a manat such a time could hold only one purpose, and thatwould be the desire to escape. Yet he could not escapesingle-handed, despite the absorption of the Comanchesin the medicine dance. There was only one door to thegreat lodge, and it was guarded. But Phil was there.He felt that the hand of Providence itself had sent himat this critical moment, and that Bill Breakstone, withhis help, might escape.

He watched for a long time. It must have been threeor four o'clock in the morning. The whistling, shrill, penetrating, now and then getting horribly upon hisnerves, still went on. The wavering warrior seemed tohave got his second wind, and around and around thewarriors went, their eyes fixed steadily upon the hideouswooden face of the joss. Phil believed that it must bealive to them now. It was alive to him even with itsghastly cheek of black and its ghastly cheek of white, andits thick, red lips, grinning down at the fearful strainthat was put upon men for its sake.

Phil's eyes again sought Breakstone. The captivehad now pushed himself back against the buffalo skinwall and stood there, as if he had reached the end of hiseffort. He, too, was now watching the dancers. Philnoted his position, with his shoulder against one of thewooden pieces that supported the buffalo hide, and thelad now saw the way. Courage, resolution, and endurancehad brought him to the second step on the stairway ofsuccess.

Phil sat on the bough and stretched his limbs againand again to bring back the circulation. Then he becameconscious of something that he had not noticed before inhis absorption. It was raining lightly. Drops fellfrom the boughs and leaves, but his rifle, shelteredagainst his coat, was dry, and the rain might serve theuseful purpose of hiding the traces of footsteps fromtrailers so skilled as the Comanches.

He dropped to the ground and moved softly by theside of the lodge, which was circular in shape, until hecame to the point at which he believed Bill Breakstonerested. There was the wooden scantling, and, unless hehad made a great mistake, the shoulder of the captivewas pressed against the buffalo hide on the left of it. Hedeliberated a moment or two, but he knew that he musttake a risk, a big risk. No success was possible withoutit, and he drew forth his hunting-knife. Phil was proudof this hunting-knife. It was long, and large of blade, and keen of edge. He carried it in a leather scabbard, and he had used it but little. He put the sharp pointagainst the buffalo hide at a place about the height of aman, and next to the scantling on the left. Then hepressed upon the blade, and endeavored to cut throughthe skin. It was no easy task. Buffalo hide is heavyand tough, but he gradually made a small slit, withoutnoise, and then, resting his hand and arm, lookedthrough it.

Phil saw little definite, only a confused mass of headsand bodies, the light of torches gleaming beyond them, and close by, almost against his eyes, a thatch of hair.That hair was brown and curling slightly, such hair asnever grew on the head of an Indian. It could clothe thehead of Bill Breakstone and none other. Phil's heartthrobbed once more. Courage and decision had wonagain. He put his mouth to the slit and whispered softly:

"Bill! Bill! Don't move! It is I, Phil Bedford!"

The thatch of brown hair, curling slightly at the ends, turned gently, and back came the whisper, so soft that itcould not have been heard more than a foot away:

"Phil, good old Phil! You've come for me! Imight have known it!"

"Are they still looking at the dance?"

"Yes, they can't keep their eyes off it."

"Then now is your only chance. You must get out ofthis medicine lodge, and I will help you. I'm going tocut through the buffalo hide low down, then you muststoop and push your way out at the slash, when they'renot looking."

"All right," said Bill Breakstone, and Phil detectedthe thrill of joy in his tone. Phil stooped and bearinghard upon the knife, cut a slash through the hide fromthe height of his waist to the ground.

"Now, Bill," he whispered, "when you think thetime has come, press through."

"All right," again came the answer with that leapingtone in it.

Phil put the knife back in its scabbard, and, pressingclosely against the hide beside the slash, waited. Billdid not come. A minute, another, and a third passed.He heard the monotonous whistling, the steady chant, and the ceaseless beat of the dancer's feet, but Breakstonemade no sound. Once more he pressed his lips to theslit, and said in the softest of tones:

"Are you coming, Bill?"

No answer, and again he waited interminable minutes.Then the lips of the buffalo skin parted, and a shoulderappeared at the opening. It was thrust farther, and ahead and face, the head and face of Bill Breakstone, followed. Then he slipped entirely out, and the toughbuffalo hide closed up behind him. Phil seized hishand, and the two palms closed in a strong grasp.

"I had to wait until nobody was looking my way,"whispered Breakstone, "and then it was necessary tomake it a kind of sleight-of-hand performance. I slippedthrough so quick that any one looking could only see theplace where I had been."

Then he added in tones of irrepressible admiration:

"It was well done, it was nobly done, it was grandlydone, Sir Philip of the Night and the Knife."

"Hark to that!" said Phil, "they miss you already!"

A shout, sharp, shrill, wholly different from all theother sounds, came from within the great medicine lodge.It was the signal of alarm. It was not repeated, and thewhistling and wailing went on, but Phil and Breakstoneknew that warriors would be out in an instant, seekingthe lost captive.

"We must run for it," whispered Breakstone, as theystood among the trees.

"It's too late," said Phil. Warriors with torcheshad already appeared at either end of the grove, but thelight did not yet reach where the two stood in the thickdarkness, with the gentle rain sifting through the leavesupon them. Phil saw no chance to escape, because thelight of the torches reached into the river bed, and then, like lightning, the idea came to him.

"Look over your head, Bill," he said. "You standunder an Indian platform for the dead, and I underanother! Jump up on yours and lie down between themummies, and I'll do the same here. Take this pistolfor the last crisis, if it should come!"

He thrust his pistol into his companion's hand, seizeda bough, and drew himself up. Bill Breakstone wasquick of comprehension, and in an instant he didlikewise. Two bodies tightly wrapped in deerskin wereabout three feet apart, and Phil, not without a shudder, lay down between them. Bill Breakstone on hisplatform did the same. They were completely hidden, butthe soft rain seeped through the trees and fell upon theirfaces. Phil stretched his rifle by his side and scarcelybreathed.

The medicine dance continued unbroken inside.Okapa, greatest shaman of the Comanches, still stood inthe ring watching the circling twelve. The symbols andhieroglyphics painted on his naked body gleamed ruddilyin the light of the torches, but the war chief, BlackPanther, and the other great war chief, Santana, had goneforth with many good warriors. The single cry hadwarned them. Sharp eyes had quickly detected the slitin the wall of buffalo skin, and even the littlest Indianboy knew that this was the door by which the captivehad passed. He knew, too, that he must have had aconfederate who had helped from the outside, but the warriorswere sure that they could yet retake the captive and hisfriend also.