"What?" he exclaimed. "Shall a guest be asked to wait upon himself? Chatanskah and his warriors were as good as dead men when Tawannears and his white brothers came to their rescue. We owe you our lives. And now you shall sit in the center of my teepee. My squaws shall wait upon you. My young men shall hunt you game. Our old men shall tell you stories of the long-ago. If you will stay with us we will find you maidens to suit your eyes and we will make strong medicine to turn the white brothers red, and you shall become chiefs of the Dakota. Then the tribe will prosper and grow mighty in war."
His eyes gleamed as he conjured up that picture of prowess.
"That is a plan worth considering, my brother of the Hodenosaunee," he went on. "We will raid the Chippewa, the Miami, the Potawotomi, the Illinois, the Shawnee for guns. We will steal horses from the Spaniards and the tribes below the Missouri. We will grow great, brother."
"My brother forgets," Tawannears answered gently. "When I was among the Dakota before I told of a search I had undertaken."
"True," the Dakota assented, crestfallen. "And does Tawannears still pursue that search?"
"Yes, brother. My white brothers go with me. We seek the Land of Lost Souls, which the old tales of my people say is beyond the sunset."
The Dakota shrugged his powerful shoulders.
"It may be. My people know nothing of it."
Tawannears hesitated, and I who knew him so well, recognized that he dreaded to press the question. But his will triumphed over his spiritual fear.
"Has Chatanskah asked any warriors from afar if they know of the Land of Lost Souls?"