So soon as each was comfortably settled, the pipe bearer entered the circle, holding the calumet, which he presented ready-lighted to Pethonista. The chief pointed it to the four cardinal points, and smoked for a few seconds; then, holding the bowl in his hand, he offered the stem to all present in turn, who imitated him. When all had smoked, the chief returned the pipe to the bearer, who emptied it into the fire, while pronouncing some mysterious words addressed to the Sun, that great dispenser of all the good things of this world, and walked backward out of the circle.
"Our ears are open, my brother; the great pale hunter can take the word. We have removed the skin from our heart, and the words his bosom breathes will be carefully received by us. We impatiently await the communications which he has to make us," the chief said, bowing courteously to Valentine.
"What I have to say will not take long," the hunter answered. "Are my brothers still the faithful allies of the palefaces?"
"Why should we not be so?" the chief sharply interrupted him. "The great pale hearts have been constantly good to us; they buy of our beaver skins and buffalo robes, giving us in exchange gunpowder, bullets, and scalping knives. When we are ill, our pale friends nurse us, and give us all we need. When the winter is severe—when the buffaloes are gone, and famine is felt in the villages—the whites come to our help. Why, then, shall we no longer be their allies? The Comanches are not ungrateful; they have a noble and generous heart; they never forget a kindness. We shall be the friend of the whites so long as the sun lights the universe."
"Thanks, chief," the hunter answered; "I am glad you have spoken in that way, for the hour has come to prove your friendship to us."
"What does my brother mean?"
"The Apaches have dug up the hatchet against us: their war parties are marching to surround our friend, Bloodson. I have come to ask my brothers if they will help us to repulse and beat back our enemies."
There was a moment's silence, and the Indians seemed to be seriously reflecting on the hunter's words. At length, Pethonista said, after giving the members of the council a glance—
"The enemies of Bloodson and of my brother are our enemies," he said, in a loud and firm voice. "My young men will go to the help of the palefaces. The Comanches will not suffer their allies to be insulted. My brother may rejoice at the success of his mission. Unicorn, I feel convinced, would not have answered differently from me, had he been present at the council. Tomorrow, at sunrise, all the warriors of my tribe will set out to the assistance of Bloodson. I have spoken. Have I said well, powerful chiefs?"
"Our father has spoken well," the chiefs replied, with a bow. "What he desires shall be done."