"It's funny to hear an Injun woman chantin' about battles as she comes into camp.

That's the business o' warriors." "Then this is no ordinary woman," said Henry.
"They'll pass along that trail there within twenty yards of us, Sol, and we want to see her." "So we do," said Sol, "but I ain't breathin' while they pass." They flattened themselves against the earth until the keenest eye could not see them in the darkness.

All the time the singing was growing louder, and both remained, quite sure that it was the voice of a woman.
The trail was but a short distance away, and the moon was bright.

The fierce Indian chant swelled, and presently the most singular figure that either had ever seen came into view.
The figure was that of an Indian woman, but lighter in color than most of her kind.

She was middle-aged, tall, heavily built, and arrayed in a strange mixture of civilized and barbaric finery, deerskin leggins and moccasins gorgeously ornamented with heads, a red dress of European cloth with a red shawl over it, and her head bare except for bright feathers, thrust in her long black hair, which hung loosely down her back.