"I call, the owner of this place," answered the trader. "This is no hour for coming here, and Rain Cloud knows it."
"Rain Cloud would speak to his white brother," said the Indian, smoothly.
"What about?" and there was a peculiar sharpness in James Morris' voice as he spoke.
Again the red man hesitated before answering.
"Rain Cloud and two of his warriors come for aid. A white hunter is sick in their camp."
"Who is it?"
"Rain Cloud knows not his name. He has eaten of some bad meat and is very sick. He must have medicine or he will die. He begged Rain Cloud to come to you for aid."
"Don't you believe him!" whispered Henry. "It's another yarn, Uncle Jim."
"If Rain Cloud wanted help why did he not come alone?" questioned the trader.
"Rain Cloud is alone," answered the Indian.