"Huh! Red Fox poor. He not have dollars to buy new traps for hunting."
That was what the Indian said. He pretended that he thought the Medicine Man had come to trade. But he knew differently, and waited for the visitor to "show his hand." Whatever bargain was to be proposed, he knew that his share would not be increased by any show of eagerness to possess the robe that even chiefs had coveted in vain.
Thunder-maker darted a keen glance at the other man as he said mockingly—
"The dollars of Red Fox stay in pouch, yet ermine robe lie on his shoulders—if he do what Thunder-maker say."
Still Red Fox made no sign to show interest, and the other went on—
"At Crane Creek two white papooses live in tent. Red Fox will find them—he will go as a friend, and he will say, gentle as the voice of a mother pigeon: 'White boys would find friends who are far away? Then Red Fox will lead them.' And Red Fox will take them by dark path through the forest—by long path that twine like path of serpent. Then, when sun sleep, Red Fox will creep away—soft—soft, that pale-faces hear not. And when sun waken—Red Fox will be back at camp of Mighty Hand. I have spoken."
Red Fox had fastened the moccasin by now, though he still sat with body bent while he intently listened to the Medicine Man's proposal to cause the two boys to be lost in the forest. And as the story was ended he slowly raised his head to look into Thunder-maker's face. What he saw there evidently satisfied him, for his ghastly face moved with a sort of smile that indicated satisfaction.
"Then the—the fiery totem—foolish?" he questioned shyly, and the other Indian rejoined solemnly—
"The totem of the Dacotahs wise—very wise. It speak to Thunder-maker by night, and tell him this."
Red Fox nodded. But it was not the nod of agreement with the falsehood so much as at recognition of the lie.