The sun is an emblem understood and respected almost all over the two Americas.
"A Son of the Sacred Fire!" cried the chiefs, bowing with reverence.
"Cherokee Bill, the mate of Jim Ridge the mountain man," sneered Dagard.
"Yes, I am the Cherokee. My father was made a chief of the nation before me. If ever I come to the stake, and I am bled to the last drop in my body, nothing will have issued but red blood! Well, I am thousands of miles from the home and graves of my fathers—am I among brothers or foes?"
Red Knife rose and bowed to the speaker, answering:
"We have heard none but a Cherokee speak. The place of the Sagamore is in my stead. Let him command at the council fire, and all that here surround us will obey him to the letter. Wisdom is in the Son of Fire, and the Great Spirit loves him. To no one need he give an account of his doings."
With a dignity that struck all beholders, the Cherokee sat in the place Red Knife vacated, and lifting his hand to entreat silence, said gravely?
"I thank my brother for not having required any explanation from me; but my tongue is not forked, and my honour exacts my Piegan sons being judges between this Canadian and me. The young woman whom you see yonder was the captive of the gold seekers, commanded by Captain Kidd, whose name smells bad in the nose of honest Indians on the border. She escaped on the mule, and fell across the path of these Red River Rovers. Yes, she would have been their fair capture if they were independent. But that's not so. They are allied with Captain Kidd, and this detachment was going to join him when they met the fugitive. Being one and the same, any enemy had the right to cut in and cut out the prize. I did so. Who is in the right? He?"
"No!" responded the unanimous voice.
"Will he even deny my statement?"