“Howling Wolf, you do me honor,” said the agent. “I shake your hand. You are now safely on the white man’s road.”
To this Howling Wolf only said, “My heart is very good to-day. I am happy and I go to see the white man’s big camp. I shall keep my eyes open and learn many good things.”
The teams laden with their skins had just passed the big red jaws of Bitterwood Cañon when a party of cowboys overtook them.
“Hello there,” yelled one big fellow. “Where you going with those hides?”
Howling Wolf heard the curses, but his heart was soft with newborn love for his enemies and he smilingly greeted his foes. “How! how!”
“See the old seed grin. Let’s shoot him up a few and see him hustle.”
“Oh come along, let ’em alone, Bill,” said one of the other men.
“That’s old Howling Wolf,” put in the third man. “Better let him be. He’s a fighter.”
“Are you old Howling Wolf?” asked Bill, riding alongside.