"Is my brother a chief?" the Pirate answered, displaying no emotion.
"I am a chief," the Indian replied—"my brothers call me Black Cat."
"Very good," Red Cedar continued. "I will therefore answer my brother that I have known for a long time that the hatchet has been dug up for a long time between the 'Great hearts of the East' and the Apaches. As for my scalp, I am weak enough to set an enormous value on it, gray as it is, and I have no intention of letting it be raised."
"In that case my brother acted very imprudently in coming to deliver himself up."
"The future will prove the truth of that. Will my brother hear the propositions I am commissioned to make him?"
"My brother can speak, but he must be brief, for my sons are impatient."
"What I have to say only concerns Black Cat."
"My ears are open."
"I have come to offer my brother the help of my comrades and my own—that is to say, the eleven best rifles in the prairie. By the council fire, I will explain to the chiefs what we can do to deliver them from their implacable enemy, Bloodson."
"Bloodson is a cowardly dog," the chief answered; "the Indian women despise him. My brother has spoken well, but the whites have a forked tongue: what proof will my brother give me of his sincerity?"