“Good,” praised the medicine-man. “You will fight for the Americans?”
“I am American,” asserted Scar Head. “American. No Pawnee.”
The medicine-man laughed, but he seemed pleased.
There were many of the Pawnees—fully three hundred. They approached swiftly, across the rolling prairie, from the north. They were horseback, but they acted like a war party—all were warriors, with guns and bows and lances. What did they want? Even Scar Head could not guess. Had Charakterik decided to let the Americans be attacked? That was foolish. The Americans were ready, and would fight hard.
Or, perhaps Iskatappe and Skidi and other hot-hearts had planned this without permission, and were determined to see what they might do.
The Americans stood in a half circle, facing the Pawnees, their horses tied short, behind them. Chief Pike stood in front of the center, his sword in his hand. His sub-chief was at one end and the medicine-man at the other end. Scar Head fitted his arrow upon his bow, twitched his quiver around so that he might reach it more easily, and ran closer to the medicine-man’s end, where he could shoot better. The soldier Sparks was here, too.
Iskatappe led the Pawnees. They were nearing fast. Yes, Skidi was among them. Scar Head decided to loose his arrows upon Skidi, who had called him a liar and who was the mischief-maker. Now Chief Pike uttered a sharp command, and the gun-locks of the few Americans all clicked; he uttered another command, and the guns of the few Americans all rose to a level line. Scar Head lifted his bow and bent it, pointing his arrow upward, his eyes measuring the distance to Skidi.
But on a sudden the Pawnees stopped short, so that their ponies’ forehoofs ploughed the sod, and Iskatappe and another chief rode forward more slowly, with the peace sign.
Chief Pike barked a command, so that the Americans’ guns were lowered. Baroney went out and joined him, and they two met Iskatappe and the other chief.