“Adios,” grunted White Wolf, wrapping his robe about him.
Chief Pike and Baroney the interpreter galloped for the column. They left the soldier. Now he was one American among all the Pawnees, but he did not act afraid, either.
He sat his horse and gazed about him with a smile. He was a stout, chunky man, in stained blue clothes. His face was partly covered with red hair, and the hair on his head, under his slouched black hat, was red, too. He carried a long-barreled heavy gun in the hollow of one arm.
“Get down,” signed White Wolf. “Come into my lodge.” And he waved the crowding warriors back.
The red-haired soldier got down and entered the lodge. Here he was safe. Everything of his was safe as long as he was a guest of a lodge. Scar Head slipped in after him, but White Wolf stayed outside.
“The American chief has lost a horse,” he announced. “The horse must be brought back, or we shall have a bad name with our American father.”
“If the American chief has lost a horse, let him promise a present and maybe it will be found,” answered Skidi.
“That is no way to talk,” Charakterik rebuked. “I want the horse brought to me; then we will see about the present.”
“The present is here already,” laughed Skidi. “It is in your lodge. The American chief would have done better to lose all his horses and say nothing, for a red scalp is big medicine.”