"The Chiefs of my nation are renowned warriors, who laugh at pain, and for them suffering does not exist," the Redskin said, proudly.
"I should be inclined to believe it, after your way of acting."
"My brother is a man; he has understood me. We will inspect together the warriors lying on the ground, and then think of ourselves."
"As for your poor comrades, Chief, I am compelled to tell you that we have no occasion to trouble ourselves about them, for they are all dead."
"Good! they fell nobly while fighting; the Wacondah will receive them into his bosom, and permit them to hunt with him on the happy prairies."
"So be it!"
"Now, before all else, let us settle the affair we began this morning, and which was so unexpectedly broken off."
John Davis, in spite, of his acquaintance with desert life, was confounded by the coolness of this man, who, having escaped death by a miracle, still suffering from a terrible wound, and who had regained possession of his intellectual faculties only a few moments before, seemed no longer to think of what had occurred, considered the events to which he had all but fallen a victim as the very natural accidents of the life he led, and began again, with the greatest freedom of mind, a conversation interrupted by a terrible fight, at the very point where he left it. The fact was, that, despite the lengthened intercourse the American had hitherto had with the Redskins, he had never taken the trouble to study their character seriously, for he was persuaded, like most of the whites indeed, that these men are beings almost devoid of intelligence, and that the life they lead places them almost on a level with the brute, while, on the contrary, this life of liberty and incessant perils renders danger so familiar to them that they have grown to despise it, and only attach a secondary importance to it.
"Be it so," he said presently; "since you wish it, Chief, I will deliver the message intrusted to me for you."
"My brother will take a place by my side."