“My brothers would have been treated well for a time, but they would not have lived long.”
“How would it have been with you?” asked George.
“Mul-tal-la did not hurt Young Elk or the Antelope; his skin is of the same color as Black Elk’s. They are brothers.”
This was another way of saying the Blackfoot had nothing to fear from the Shoshones. It was the boys who were in peril.
Victor more than once was tempted to ask their companion the cause of his absence the night before, but refrained after speaking to George, who told him if Mul-tal-la wished he would give the information without questioning. If he did not, it was not tactful to bother him.
The boys noted that the Blackfoot, from his place in front, occasionally turned his head and scanned the horizon, especially to the south and west.
“That means that he doesn’t believe we are through with the Shoshones,” said Victor, when his brother commented upon the action.
“If they intend any harm, I don’t see why they don’t follow us, without trying to hide from our sight. We can’t travel fast, and they wouldn’t have any trouble in overtaking us before we went many miles.”
“That isn’t the Indian fashion of doing business.”
Inasmuch as Mul-tal-la showed no such interest in studying the country they were leaving behind them, George frequently brought his spyglass into play. Whenever they reached an elevation, though of slight extent, he directed the instrument toward the points which he saw were passing under the scrutiny of their guide. The most careful study, sometimes shared with Victor, failed to reveal anything of a disturbing nature. It was well to be on guard, but it looked as if the Blackfoot was unduly suspicious.