Once at the base of the slope, they lost little time in advancing toward the camp. As they eventually crept within bow-shot of the lodges, White Otter again asked them to wait, while he went forward to reconnoiter. It was not long before he returned, and told them that the Pawnees were holding an important council.
"I believe that they are talking about Wolf Robe and Yellow Horse," he said.
"Did you see our people?" High Eagle asked anxiously.
"No, I did not see them," replied White Otter. "But my heart tells me that they are alive."
Then he led the way toward the hostile camp. They crept cautiously forward, one behind the other, keeping in the heavy shadows, and moving toward the spot from which White Otter had made his reconnoissance. It was a low, bushy knoll within leaping distance of the edge of the village. When they finally reached it, they sank to the ground and peered eagerly into the camp.
The Sioux watched the Pawnees with breathless interest. The intense emotion of the speakers, and the apparent excitement of the audience, soon convinced them that the entire tribe was on the verge of an hysterical outburst. The anxious scouts at the edge of the camp had little doubt that the fate of the unfortunate captives was the topic of discussion. The prisoners themselves were nowhere in sight. However, White Otter pointed out the lodge into which they had been taken the previous night. The Sioux looked upon it with longing eyes. The same thought was in the mind of each. Still, they knew that it would be impossible to reach the shelter without being seen. It was located some distance from the outside of the village, and the brilliant light from the fires illuminated every inch of the ground about it. They realized, therefore, that for the moment, at least, there was nothing to do but to wait.
"I know that man," whispered Little Raven, as a new speaker rose to address the people. "Yes, he is Yellow Cloud. He is the great war chief of all the Pawnees."
The Sioux saw a tall, broad-shouldered warrior of wonderful physique. He wore a trailing head-dress of eagle plumes, and carried a beautiful robe of the white buffalo. His appearance and manner marked him as a man of great distinction. As he began to talk, the Pawnees listened with an eager attention that promised ready obedience to his commands. The Sioux regretted that they were not nearer to him, for Little Raven had been a prisoner of the Pawnees, and was familiar with their dialect. They watched the chief with great anxiety, hoping to gain a clew to his thoughts.