“Crow-Killer?” questioned the savage, with a slight uneasiness perceptible in his manner.
“Yes,” answered Dave, secretly wondering that his companion’s name should be so well known to the Yancton Sioux; “you have heard of the ‘Crow-Killer’ then?” he asked.
“The deeds of a great brave on the war-path travel like the white clouds, when the winds blow over the prairie. The ‘Crow-Killer’ is a great chief,” answered the Indian, a peculiar gleam in his dark eyes, as he looked upon the famous Indian fighter.
“Does my brother go soon?” asked Dave.
“When the moon comes, the Sioux chief rides like the wind for the Big river, (Missouri); his warriors wait for him, and the singing bird that sings for the chief, sings not when the wigwam is empty and the nest is cold.” Then the Indian gazed upon the crowd with the same stolid glance as before.
Dave having gained all the information that he could, rejoined Abe and the corporal.
“Wal, who and what is he?” asked Abe.
“He says he’s a Sioux of the Yancton tribe, separated from the rest of his braves in a fight with the Mandans on the Powder river; and that he came here for food and drink,” answered Dave to Abe’s question.
“Well, now I think of it,” said the corporal, “I remember hearing the boys saying something, this morning, about an Indian coming in, hungry, and they giving him food.”
“A Yancton Sioux, eh?” said Abe, half to himself.