There were not less than fifty of them.
"You see my guards--red devils, who will do my bidding at all times, and take a scalp on their own account every chance they get," said Persimmon Bill.
Then he took an eagle feather, with its tip dipped in crimson, from the coronet of the chief, and handed it, in the presence of all the Indians, to Jack.
"Keep thus, and when out on the plains, wear it in your hat, where it can be seen, and the Sioux will ever pass you unharmed, and you can safely come and go among them.

Now go back, get the list and all the news you can, and bring it here as soon as you can.

Tell Addie to ride out with you when you come next." Jack placed the feather in a safe place inside his vest, bowed his head, and wheeling his horse, turned toward the town.

Before he had ridden a hundred yards he looked back.

Persimmon Bill had vanished, not an Indian was in sight, and no one unacquainted with their vicinity could have seen a sign to show that such dangerous beings were near.
No smoke rose above the trees, no horses were feeding around, nothing to break the apparent solitude of the scene.
"And that was Persimmon Bill ?" muttered the auburn-haired rider, as he galloped back.