CHAPTER IX.
HAWKING WITHOUT A HAWK.
Verty nursed the wounded pigeon with the tenderness of a woman and the skill of a physician; so that on the third day, as he had promised himself, the bird was completely "restored to health." The wing had healed, the eyes grown bright again, every movement of the graceful head and burnished neck showed how impatient the air-sailer was to return to his mistress and his home.
"_Ma mere_" said Verty, standing at the door of the old Indian woman's lodge, "I think this pretty pigeon is well.

Now I shall carry it back, and I know I shall find Redbud." Verty, it will be seen, had concealed nothing from his mother; indeed, he never concealed anything from anybody.

He had told her quite simply that he wanted to see Redbud again; that they wouldn't tell him where she was; and that the pigeon would enable him to find her.

The old woman had smiled, and muttered something, and that was all.
Verty now stood with one hand on Cloud's mane, in the early morning, ready to set forth.
The pigeon was perched upon his left hand, secured to Verty's arm by a ribbon tied around one of its feet.

This ribbon had been given him by Redbud.
In the other hand he carried his rifle, for some days disused--at his feet lay Longears and Wolf, in vain pleading with down-cast eyes for permission to accompany him.
"What a lovely morning!" said Verty, "and look at Cloud, _ma mere_!--he seems to know it's fall.