"He, who was killed, I desired for a nephew," shouted another, "and an ivory wand he carried in his hand."
"He who was killed was my brother," cried a third, "and he had a new gun and much powder."
"He was braver than the buffalo," declared another.
"He had three wounds!" "He had scars!" "He wore many scalps!" came the voices of others.
"Many bells and beads were on his leggings!"
"He had garnished moccasins!"
"He slew a bear with his own hands!"
"His knife had a handle of ivory!"
"His arrows had barbs of beavers' claws!"
If the noisy claimants kept on, they would presently make the dead man a god. I begged Black Cat to cut the parley short and demand exactly what gift would compensate the Sioux for the loss of so great a warrior. After another half-hour's jangling, in which I took an animated part, beating down their exorbitant request for two hundred guns with beads and bells enough to outfit the whole Sioux tribe, we came to terms. Indeed, the grasping rascals well-nigh cleared out all that was left of my trading stock; but when I saw they had no intention of fighting, I held back at the last and demanded the surrender of Le Grand Diable, Miriam and the child in compensation for La Robe Noire.