“Tell them that seven of us will meet seven of them, at the river, for a talk,” directed the general to the interpreter.
Riding forward again the interpreter cried across the space to the Indians, and the matter was quickly arranged.
“Captain Hamilton, you will assume command here,” directed the general. “Keep the men under arms, and be ready to move forward to us at the first signal by the trumpeter. Dr. Coates, you’d better come along with the rest of us; you’re anxious to know the Indians. Moylan, Thompson, Tom Custer, Yates, Johnson. Change your revolvers from your holsters to your belts, gentlemen. Then you can get at them, in case of need. Those fellows (and he jerked his head toward the Indians) are not to be trusted, evidently.”
They rode away, Ned of course accompanying. From the opposite direction were approaching to meet them the seven chiefs. The river was the conference point, for it lay about in the middle between the two parties. Just before reaching it the general halted, and dismounted. Dismounted all except Ned.
“Hold these horses, orderly,” instructed the general, to Ned; “and watch sharp. Watch the Indians, especially, and at the least trouble or any sign of treachery you blow the ‘advance.’”
“Yes, sir,” replied Ned.
Surrounded by the seven horses he sat, their lines in his hands, while the general and the other officers proceeded on, down to the edge of the water.
The banks on this side were smooth and grassy; on the other they were cut by arroyos or ravines and grown with willows. So the officers waited, for the Indians to cross to the open side. The chiefs also dismounted, and began to take off their leggins, to wade. Through the shallow current they boldly splashed, holding high their moccasins and guns, out of the wet.
“Huh!” from his horse suddenly ejaculated Ned, scarce believing his eyes. For the leading chief was Pawnee Killer himself!