The third member of the party apparently was ignored.
“Where did you get these ponies?”
“Ponies wild. Get horses on plains.”
“They look as if they were wild,” said Reuben. “Have you had anything to eat?”
“No eat,” replied the warrior; at least the man was posing as a warrior, although the only weapons the three Cheyennes carried were bows and arrows and one long spear, which was in the hands of the spokesman.
“I shot a buffalo cow.”
“Where buffalo?” demanded the Cheyenne quickly.
“I wish I knew,” replied Reuben lightly. “I am hungry and tired. I ought to have stopped when I shot one, for one was enough, but I kept on, thinking I would get another, and so I passed the place where the cow fell. If you can find it you will have something for supper, for I will be glad to share with you.”
The Cheyenne turned and spoke in his own tongue to his companions. After a hasty conversation the spokesman once more turned to Reuben and by the aid of signs and a few words intimated his desire for the young trapper to remain where he then was while the Indians searched for the body of the fallen buffalo.
Somewhat suspicious that if the strangers should succeed in finding the dead animal they might not return, Reuben nevertheless agreed to the suggestion, at the same time striving to conceal his own fears.