The Little Panther went out to execute the order he had received. During his absence, which was rather long, not a word was exchanged between the chiefs seated on buffalo skulls, with their elbows on their knees, and their chins on the palm of their hand; they remained motionless and silent, apparently plunged into deep thought.
The Little Panther at length returned, preceding the Comanche warriors. On their entry the Apache chiefs rose and saluted them ceremoniously. The Comanches returned the salutation with no less courtesy, but without any other response, and waited till they were addressed.
The Comanche warriors were young and finely built; they had a martial bearing, a free glance, and thoughtful brow. Dressed in their national costume, with heads proudly raised, and hands stemmed in their sides, they had something noble and loyal about them which aroused sympathy. One of them specially, the youngest of the three—he was hardly five-and-twenty—must be a superior man, to judge by appearances: the stern lines of his countenance, the brilliancy of his glance, the elegance and majesty of his bearing, caused him to be recognised at the first glance as a chosen man.
His name was the Jester; and, as might be guessed from the tuft of condor feathers passed through his warlock, he was one of the principal chiefs of the nation.
The Apache chiefs bent on the new arrivals, while not appearing to notice them, that profoundly inquisitive glance possessed to so eminent a degree by the Indians. The Comanches, though they might guess the power of the glances fixed on them, did not make a sign, nor allow a movement to escape them, indicating that they knew themselves to be the object of attention to all present.
Machiavel, author of the "Prince" though he was, compared with the red men, was only a child in matters of policy. These poor savages, as they are called by those who do not know them, are the cleverest and most cunning diplomatists in existence.
After an instant's delay the Black Bear took a step toward the Comanche chiefs, bowed to them, and holding out his right hand palm upwards, said,—
"I am happy to receive beneath my cabin, in the midst of my people, my brothers, the Comanches of the Lakes. They will take their place at the council fire, and smoke with their brothers the calumet of peace."
"Be it so," the Jester replied in a stern voice. "Are we not all children of Wacondah?"
And, without adding another word, he took his seat with the other chiefs at the council fire, side by side with the Apaches. The conversation was broken off again, for everyone was smoking. At length, when the calumet bowls contained only ashes, the Black Bear turned with a courteous smile to the Jester.