"The Comanche are pursuing my people. They will be here soon, following the tracks of our horses. If we are here they will fight us. If you drive us away and capture the Comanches' horses, none the less will they attack you. How many of the Tonkawa would be left, after fighting us, to meet the Comanches?"
The Tonkawa pondered.
"We need horses," he said for the third time. "Give us what we require, and we will go away without harming you."
Tawannears roared with laughter.
"They say the Tonkawa are men of blood," he answered, wiping the tears from his eyes. "But they are really men who play with mirth."
A growl of muffled rage came from the Tonkawa band.
"Why should two wolf-packs attack each other when the deer are thick on every side?" Tawannears continued. "It is as I say, the eyes of the Tonkawa are filled with the blood from their wounds. They cannot see straight. They do not understand that my people do not fear them. Do you think we should have ridden to meet you, giving warning of our presence, if we had been in fear of you? I tell you, Tonkawas, you stand in more peril than we!"
This time there was no answering growl, and the Tonkawa chief muttered briefly in council with several of his older warriors.
"Why do you come here, then?" he asked bluffly.
"To trade," was Tawannears' prompt response.