The chief could allege nothing against Old Blaze, except that he aided Silverspur in carrying off an Arapaho girl.
“I will tell you what he has done,” replied the colonel. “You captured him when he was hunting near your village, doing you no harm, and you released him of your own accord. You had no right to capture him, and you have no right now to reclaim him.”
“At least we can claim the girl,” said the chief, after casting an anxious glance at the plain behind him. “Will you give her to us?”
“What claim have you upon her? She is not an Arapaho.”
“Not an Arapaho!” The chief started, astonished at this unexpected rebuff. “Does the white chief know what he is saying? Why does he say that she is not an Arapaho?”
“She is a Crow. She was stolen from the Crows many years ago. She is the adopted child of this chief”—pointing to Bad Eye. “She was his brother’s daughter.”
The countenance of Black Horse fell. He knew that it would be useless to deny this fact.
“I begin to be afraid,” he said, “that you will not give us the horses that were stolen from us by these people.”
“You shall have your horses, though I do not believe that they were stolen. Now let us talk of other matters. I have come to try to make peace between the Arapahoes and the Crows, and have brought presents for you.”
Suspicious circumstances were transpiring in the mean time, indicating the nature of the little stratagem that had been planned by the Arapaho chief, and explaining the reason for his backward glances across the plain.