"The time is terribly short," I agreed, "but we will make it suffice.
And we need not haste. We can do nothing till it is a little darker,
then we shall move swiftly. A young squaw, Singing Arrow, will be here
in a few minutes. You are to escape in her dress."
He wasted no time in comment. "Am I dark enough?" he demurred. "My
neck, where I am not sunburned, is very white."
I had thought of this, and had warned Singing Arrow. "There is no
opportunity to stain your skin," I said, "so we must trust to the dark,
and a blanket wrapping. The Indian will wear leggings, skirt and
blouse of skin, so you will be fairly covered. The hands and hair are
the weak points. You will have to keep them in the blanket."
He hesitated. "You can trust this girl?" he asked slowly.
Now why should he ask what he knew I could not answer? "Can you trust
me--or I you, for the matter of that?" I jerked out with a frown.
"This is an outlaw's land, and the wise man trusts no one except under
compulsion. I would not trust Singing Arrow for a moment if I could
help myself, but she is our only hope, so I trust her implicitly. I
advise you to do the same. Half measures are folly. If you try to be
cautious in your dealings with her, you will tie her hands so that the
whole thing will fall through.
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