He was about to send his men upon the stubborn horseman when the fellow said:
“If you be a man you will give me a man to fight. We were two hundred. If it chance that one of a company shall do as the Dakoon hath said, then is all the company absolved; and beyond the mists we can meet the Dakoon with open eyes and unafraid when he saith, ‘Did ye keep your faith?’”
“By the word of a hillsman, but thou shalt have thy will,” said the chief. “We are seven hundred men—choose whom to fight.”
“The oldest or the youngest,” answered the man. “Pango Dooni or Cumner’s Son.”
Before the chief had time to speak, Cumner’s Son struck the man with the flat of his sword across the breast.
The man did not lift his arm, but looked at the lad steadily for a moment. “Let us speak together before we fight,” said he, and to show his good faith he threw down his sword.
“Speak,” said Cumner’s Son, and laid his sword across the pommel of his saddle.
“Does a man when he dies speak his heart to the ears of a whole tribe?”
“Then choose another ear than mine,” said Cumner’s Son. “In war I have no secrets from my friends.”
A look of satisfaction came into Pango Dooni’s face. “Speak with the man alone,” said he, and he drew back.