Colonel Zane was right.

The Indians were tigers, the renegades vultures, the vast untrammeled forests and plains their covert.

Ten years of war had rendered this wilderness a place where those few white men who had survived were hardened to the spilling of blood, stern even in those few quiet hours which peril allowed them, strong in their sacrifice of all for future generations.
A low growl from Mose broke into Joe's reflections.

The dog had raised his nose from his paws and sniffed suspiciously at the air.
The lad heard a slight rustling outside, and in another moment was overjoyed at seeing Whispering Winds.

She came swiftly, with a lithe, graceful motion, and flying to him like a rush of wind, knelt beside him.