The chief seemed really glad to meet the wanderer. They greeted each other and talked for several minutes, as if they had not the slightest knowledge of the presence of the others.
“They act as if they belonged to the same tribe,” said George, who, like his brother, was closely watching the couple. “I wonder if these folks are Blackfeet.”
“I don’t think so. They are not dressed quite the same. They look different, and the home of the Blackfeet is a good many miles to the north.”
Victor was in a combative mood. He could not get over his anger because of the robbery they had suffered, not to mention the second one that impended. He scowled at the chief and then glared at the youths standing by themselves. The shorter looked back and grinned threateningly.
“I’d like to have a set-to with that imp,” said Victor to his brother. “Did you ever see a meaner-looking thing?”
And to show his contempt Victor deliberately doubled his fist and shook it at the fellow, who grinned and placed his hand threateningly on the haft of his knife at his girdle. When matters looked ominous it was the lot of Mul-tal-la to interfere again in the interests of peace. Turning abruptly, he said to the boys:
“This Indian is Black Elk, chief of the Shoshones. Their warriors sometimes visit the Blackfeet, and he and I talk each other’s tongue. Those are his boys, Young Elk and Antelope.”
“What does he mean by taking George’s gun from him? He was about to rob me of mine when you came up, but he won’t get it without a row.”
“Let not my brother be hasty,” said the Blackfoot soothingly. “Black Elk has thousands of warriors and can do as he wills with us, but he is a friend of the Blackfeet; I stayed for several days and nights with him when on my way through here a year ago. Because he is a friend, he will not do what he meant to do. He says you shall make contest with his two sons, and the two that beat shall own the guns. Are you willing?”
“Nothing will suit me better, if the fight is to be a fair one,” was the prompt reply of Victor.