The great chief started at the question and cast a searching glance into the face of the Great Medicine; that is, he would have looked into the face of the old Indian had not the blankets, wrapped around his head, hid it from the gaze of the chief.
“Does not my father know how the daughter of Ke-ne-ha-ha died?” asked the chief, slowly.
“Perhaps the Great Medicine has heard, but his memory is bad—he is an old man. Will the great chief tell him?”
“The Red Arrow left the wigwams of her people to wander in the forest. There she was eaten up by a bear. Ke-ne-ha-ha and a few of his chosen warriors searched for her and discovered her fate.”
“The great chief lies to the Medicine Man,” said the old Indian, calmly.
Fire flashed from the eyes of the chief, and he advanced a step with a threatening gesture toward the old Indian.
“Does the chief come with lies in his mouth into the sacred wigwam and then dare to raise his hand in violence to the Great Medicine Man because the Great Spirit bids his oracle speak the truth?” said the old Indian, sternly.
With an exclamation of anger, Ke-ne-ha-ha stepped back to his former position.
“The chief forgot himself—he did not mean to offer harm to the Great Medicine Man.”
“It is well. Mortal man cannot harm the tongue of the Great Spirit. The Spirit-fires that flash from the storm-cloud would strike unto death the warrior that dares to lift his hand in menace to the Great Medicine of the Shawnee tribe,” said the aged oracle, impressively.