"Ay, captives," emphasised Mackintosh. "Perhaps you don't know the meaning of the word."
"Mighty Hand knows the language of the pale-face. But there are no captives in the Dacotah camp."
At this the boys felt their hearts sink. Could it be that, after all, Mackintosh had been mistaken, or that Red Fox had deluded them? Could it be that they had come too late?
But Mackintosh did not share these doubts. He understood the working of the native mind too well.
"That is good," he resumed. "If the Dacotahs have no captives, then the white men are free. They will travel back with me to their camp now!"
Instantly a stern change came over the face of the chief, and such of the other Indians as understood English began to murmur with ominous disapproval.
"My white brother speak not wise words," said Mighty Hand firmly. "The fiery totem call that water-spirits suffer. What the totem call must be answered. Only great medicine can bid the fire sleep now."
"Idiots! Fools!" exclaimed Mackintosh, for once allowing his irritation to betray him. "Do you think that we are going to allow our own people to suffer at the service of a lie? I tell you that we will take those white men from your hands whether you wish it or not!"
The Indian was unmoved by the Scotsman's outburst.
"My white brother speak hot words. It saddens heart of Mighty Hand to see anger in face of his brother. But he is wrong. The call of the totem shall be answered when the moon is round—to-night."