“I do not lie. I brought the horse, and I can show where I found it,” Scar Head answered.
“That is boy’s talk,” appealed Skidi. “Look at him! He is no Pawnee, as everybody knows. He is not even an Indian. Who can believe what he says? Are warriors to be ruled by a boy? I demand a council, on this horse—and I will attend to that piece of impudence when I catch him away from the lodge.”
Chief Charakterik hesitated. Attracted by the loud voice of Skidi the village was gathering; Iskatappe had come, and Old Knife, and other leading men who were unfriendly to the Americans; and Scar Head felt small. Now Skidi had called for a council; and between the council and Skidi the red-haired soldier and he himself were likely to fare rather badly. Charakterik, too, looked angry. Only the soldier stood smiling, backed against the lodge doorway, his gun in his hands.
But right in the midst of the crisis, somebody else arrived. It was Baroney, the interpreter for Chief Pike.
“Go into the lodge,” ordered White Wolf, to Scar Head. “You have made bad work. I will talk with you later.”
Scar Head went in, disgraced. Outside, the voices continued, with White Wolf, and Skidi, and Baroney doing most of the speaking, and Rich Man and Letalesha adding remarks.
After a short time they all quit. White Wolf entered, with Baroney and the soldier.
“You are going away,” he said. “You may get your yellow pony and make ready.”
“Where am I going?”
“With these two men, to the American camp. The horse matter is settled. The American chief has sent a present, for the horse. Everybody is satisfied. But you did a wrong thing, when you interfered in men’s affairs. Why did you do that?”