“You are right. How is my father?”
“He was well a moon ago. Since that time I have not set eyes upon him.”
“Has he had any trouble with the French, or with those other Indians?”
“The French have ordered him away, but it was only with their tongues, and he paid no attention to them. He has with him now four white men and ten Indians—of White Buffalo’s tribe—and the French were but three in number.”
“Then there was no fight?”
“No. The French remained but one night and stole away ere the sun was up.”
“You say you saw him a moon ago. Then you did not come direct to here from his post?”
“I could not come. The braves of White Buffalo’s tribe have had trouble with the skunks under Fox Head, the Indian who made trouble for the white boy’s father when he first went toward the setting sun. Two fights we had, and three of our braves were slain. We followed Fox Head and killed six of his skunks and left their bodies by the river side for the wolves to feed upon.”
As White Buffalo concluded he thrust his hand under his blanket and drew forth a letter. It was addressed to Dave and written by the boy’s parent. The communication was as follows:
“My dear Dave: I am writing this in haste, for White Buffalo is anxious to get away, saying there is trouble between his tribe and the cowardly curs under Fox Head.