"Stop!" Ted's voice rang out sharply. But the youth continued to run.
"Stop, or I'll kill you!" shouted Ted again.
Then an old Indian cried out something, in the tongue of the Blackfeet, and the young fellow halted suddenly and came walking back with a sickly look on his face.
The old Indian who had stopped the youth now stepped a little ways forward, and, holding up his hands in a peace sign, began to talk.
"You are my brothers," he said, "and Flying Sun, the medicine man, welcomes you to our camp."
Ted held up his hands in a sign of peace also, but said nothing.
"He's a darned old hypocrite," said Ben, in an aside to Ted. "He has murder in those little red eyes of his, if ever a man had."
"I'm on to him," said Ted. "Keep your eyes on that bunch, and give it to them if they start anything treacherous."
"My white brothers come with peace for their red brothers. Join us at the fire. Warm yourselves; eat of our meat."
"We are willing to be brothers," said Ted. "But one brother does not steal the ponies from the corral of the other."