"For several reasons, chief," he answered; "my ammunition is nearly exhausted, I must procure more, and the road is long to the first town where I can obtain good powder. Moreover, you seem to be travelling at this moment. Who knows whether I shall be able to find you on my return?"
"Wah, my brother is a skilful paleface hunter; it is easy for him to follow a friend's trail."
"Yes, if it is not old, and a fresh one has not crossed it."
Running Water reflected for a moment, during which the Canadian anxiously awaited the result of his meditation.
"Let my brother listen," the sachem at last went on, "the hunt will not begin till the ninth sun from this; that is more time than he requires to fetch his powder and return."
"I grant it."
"Good! The Red Buffaloes are not travelling; they are going to a grand assembly of their nations to witness a sacrifice of prisoners."
"Ah!" the hunter said with capitally feigned surprise, "I did not know that the Comanches had made an expedition against the Apache dogs?"
"The Apaches are cowardly knaves," the chief answered; "they have buried the hatchet so deep that they would be unable to find it, and lift it against the Comanches. The prisoners are palefaces."
While uttering these words, the sachem fixed a searching glance on the hunter, but the latter did not blench.