done at once."

For some minutes the mother and daughter were silent, each striving to
devise some method of escaping from their difficulty. At last
Brighteyes spoke.

"I see a way, my child," she said, with more than her wonted solemnity,
even when discussing grave matters. "It is full of danger, yet you must
take it, for I see that love has taken possession of my Moonlight's
heart, and--there is no withstanding love!"

She paused thoughtfully for a few moments, and then resumed--

"One of your father's horses is hobbled down in the willow swamp. He
put it there because the feeding is good, and has left no one to guard
it because the place is not easily found, as you know, and thieves are
not likely to think of it as a likely place. What you must do is to go
as near our lines as you dare, and give the signal of the owl. Rushing
River will understand it, and go away at once. He will not travel fast,
for his heart will be heavy, and revenge to him is no longer sweet.
That will give you time to cross the camp, creep past the sentinels, run
down to the swamp, mount the horse, and go by the short cuts that you
know of until you get in front of the party or overtake them. After
that you must lead them to the block-house," (Brighteyes never would
consent to call it Tim's Folly after she understood the meaning of the
name), "and let the chief manage the rest. Go. You have not a moment
to lose."

She gave her daughter a final embrace, pushed her out of the tent and
then sat down with the stoicism of a Red Indian to continue her work and
listen intently either for the savage yells which would soon indicate
the failure of the enterprise, or the continued silence which would
gradually prove its success.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT.

Moonlight sauntered through the camp carelessly at first with a blanket
over her head after the manner of Indian women; but on approaching the
outskirts, nearest to the spot where Rushing River was concealed, she
discarded the blanket, sank into the grass like a genuine apparition,
and disappeared. After creeping a short way, she ventured to give the
three hoots of the owl.

An Indian brave, whose eyes were directed sentimentally to the stars, as
though he were thinking of his lady-love--or buffalo steaks and
marrow-bones--cocked his ears and lowered his gaze to earth, but as
nothing more was to be seen or heard, he raised his eyes and thoughts
again to love--or m