As this was not a question the Indian limited himself to replying with a bow.
"The vultures are soaring in large flocks over the desert," the chief presently continued; "the coyotes are sharpening their bent claws; the Apaches scent a smell of blood which makes their hearts bound with joy in their breasts. Has my son seen nothing?"
"The Little Panther is a renowned warrior of his tribe. At the first leaves he will be a chief. He has fulfilled the mission his father entrusted to him."
"Wah! What are the Long-knives doing?"
"The Long-knives are dogs that howl without knowing how to bite: an Apache warrior terrifies them."
The chiefs smiled with pride at this boast, which they simply regarded as seriously meant.
"The Little Panther has seen their camp," the Indian continued; "he has counted them. They cry like women, and lament like weak children. Two of them will not take their accustomed place this night at the council fire of their brothers."
And with a gesture marked with a certain degree of nobility, the Indian raised the cotton shirt which fell from his neck about half way down his thighs, and displayed two bleeding scalps fastened to his waist belt.
"Wah!" the chiefs exclaimed joyfully, "the Little Panther has fought bravely!"
The Black Bear made the warrior a sign to hand him the scalps. He unfastened them and gave them. The sachem examined them attentively. The Apaches fixed their eyes eagerly upon him.