"How? How?" said the Indian, meaning "How do you do?" as he took first Dave's hand and then Henry's and gave each a tight grip. "White Buffalo is glad to see his young friends looking so well. The war has not harmed them."
"No, White Buffalo, we are as well as ever," answered Dave. "And how have you been since last we saw you?"
"White Buffalo is not so young as he once was," answered the chief. "His step is not so light and his eye cannot see so far. Before many winters he will be gathered to his fathers."
"Nonsense!" put in Henry. "You can shoot as straight as any of us, and I know it, and walk just as far, too. Who told you that you couldn't?"
"The young braves at White Buffalo's village. They do not care for a chief who is old."
"They make a big mistake, and I'd tell them so if I had the chance," went on Henry earnestly. "You are all right, White Buffalo, and we'll be very glad to have you along, even if your tribe doesn't want you any longer."
At this the eyes of the old Delaware glistened. "Henry is my true friend," he murmured. "And David is my friend, too. White Buffalo shall never forget them."
"Are the men with you young men?" questioned Dave.
"No, they are almost as old as White Buffalo himself."
"That will suit father. He doesn't care for the young braves. They always want to do what pleases them and not what is ordered."