Lone Wolf led his Spartan host steadily on till near enough to be heard without effort. He then halted, took off his war-bonnet and hung it on the pommel of his saddle. Lifting both palms to the sky, he spoke, and his voice had a solemn boom in it: “The Great Father is looking down on us. He sees us. He knows I speak the truth. He gave us this land. We are the first to inhabit it. No one else has any claim to it. It is ours, and I will go under the sod before any cattlemen shall divide it and take it away from us. I have said it.”
When this was interpreted to him, Pierce with a look of inquiry turned to Speed. “Tell the old fool this line is going to be run, and no old scarecrows like these can stop us.”
Seger, lifting his hand, signed: “Lone Wolf, you know me. I am your friend. I do not come to do you harm. I come to tell you you are wrong. All the land on my left hand the Great Father says is Cheyenne land. All on my right is Kiowa land. The Cheyennes have sold the right to their land to the white man, and we are here to mark out the line. We take only Cheyenne land.”
“I do not believe it,” replied the chief. “My agent knows nothing of it. Washington has not written anything to me about it. This is the work of robbers. Cattlemen will do anything for money. They are wolves. They shall not go on.”
“What does he say?” asked Pierce.
“He says we must not go on.”
“You tell him that he can’t run any such bluff on me with his old scarecrow warriors. This lines goes through.”
Lone Wolf, tense and eager, asked, “What says the white chief?”
“He says we must run the line.”
Lone Wolf turned to his guard. “You may as well get ready,” he said, quietly.