He was standing before a shop window lost in the attempt to understand the use of all the marvelous things he saw there, when a saloon door opened and a party of loud-talking white men came out. He turned his head quickly and perceived the three cowboys who had passed him on the road. They recognized him also and their leader swaggered up to him, made reckless with drink, and began to abuse him.
“So you’re Howling Wolf, are ye? Big chief. Drink blood. Why I’d break you in two pieces for a leatherette. I’m Brindle Bill, you understand, I’d a killed you on the road only——”
Howling Wolf again understood only the curses, but he turned a calm face upon his enemy and extended his hand. “How? How, white man?”
Bill spat into his hand.
Quick as a flash Howling Wolf slapped the ruffian’s face. “Coyote!” he cried in his own tongue.
The cowboy jerked his revolver from its holster, but Howling Wolf leaped behind a signpost and the bullet, going wild, glanced from an iron rod and entered the knee of a man who stood in the doorway of the saloon. With a scream of terror he fell flat on the walk as if killed.
Instantly the peaceful street became a place of savage outcry.
“Kill him! Kill the red devil!” shouted a dozen who knew nothing of what had happened, except that a man was shot and an Indian was present.
Like a bear at bay, Howling Wolf faced his hereditary enemies. “I am peaceful. I have done nothing,” he called, jerking a paper from his pocket. “See, this is true, read it!”