"And who is Clo-ke-ta's husband?"
"A Bannock chief."
"The Indians from whom I am then to fly are the Bannocks?"
"My brother is right."
"Does not Clo-ke-ta know that the braves with her brother are numerous."
"The Bannocks who are waiting for the dawn, number more than the leaves of the sage-brush my brother has seen, before he laid himself down to rest."
Figurative as the expression was, there was no mistaking its significance. We were decidedly in for it, if her words were true, in even the thousandth or ten-thousandth part of her somewhat extensive style of reckoning the forces of our enemy. However, my experience of the Indian character for veracity had greatly modified the faith which, when I first knew her, I might have placed in her words. Considering our former relations, it would seem to be a matter of difficulty to make her understand this. But life in the hills and plains of the West considerably impairs sentimental delicacy in conversation, even with one whom a man had so narrowly escaped from wedding, as I had her. After a brief pause, I said:
"What the white man sees, he believes."
"What says my brother?"
"Let Clo-ke-ta prove her words, to his eyes!"