When they appeared, Eagle Head saluted the old man cordially, and offered him his calumet, a mark of kindness which the old man accepted, carefully preparing himself for the questions which the Indian was, doubtless, about to put to him.
As he expected, after a silence of a few moments, the latter spoke.
"Does my brother find himself comfortable with the redskins?" asked he.
"I should be wrong to complain, chief," the Spaniard replied; "since I have been with you I have been treated very kindly."
"My brother is a friend," the Comanche said, emphatically.
The old man bowed.
"We are at length in our own hunting grounds," the chief continued; "my brother, the White Head, is fatigued with a long life; he is better at the counsel fire than on horseback, hunting the elk or the buffalo—what does my brother wish?"
"Chief," the Spaniard replied, "your words are true; there was a time when, like every other child of the prairies, I passed whole days in hunting upon a fiery unbroken mustang; my strength has disappeared, my members have lost their elasticity, and my eye its infallibility; I am worth nothing now in an expedition, however short it may be."
"Good!" the Indian replied, imperturbably, blowing clouds of smoke from his mouth and nostrils; "let my brother tell his friend what he wishes, and it shall be done."
"I thank you, chief, and I will profit by your kindness; I should be happy if you would consent to furnish me with means of gaining, without being disturbed, some establishment of men of my own colour, where I might pass in peace the few days I have yet to live."