“In the first place,” I said, “my people do not want to fight the Indians; and besides, if my father had been coming after me he would have come long before this. I don’t believe one word of it.”
Washakie was of the same opinion as I was.
Then one of Pocatello’s Indians said he had just come from Salt Lake City and many people there had asked him whether he knew anything about the boy that had been stolen from the whites. He said that all through the white men’s towns they were getting ready to fight, and he knew that they were coming to get me.
“I know they are not,” I said, “for I have heard my father say many times that if any of his boys ran away he should never come home again; besides, my father has an old Gosiute Indian living with him who knows all about my running away.”
Washakie said that it did not look reasonable to him that they would wait so long and then come to hunt the boy, especially at that time of the year.
This made the Pocatello Indians angry. “All right,” they said; “believe that white boy if you would rather than believe us; but if you get into a fight with the white men, you need not ask us to help you.”
Washakie said that he was not going to have any trouble with the whites if he could avoid it.
“No,” they said, “you are too big a coward to fight anything”; and off they strutted as mad as hornets. As they went out they said to one of our Indians that they would like to get that little white devil out in the brush and they would soon have another white, curly-headed scalp to dance around.
When the council met again that night, they did not have much to say; they all appeared to be in a deep study. After a little while Washakie said he thought it would be a good thing to send some of our Indians to the white settlements to find out what was going on.
“That is the best thing to do,” said old Morogonai; “but who will go?”