"Are any of the head men here?"
"Yes, they are all at my tepee. They want to see you very bad."
"Tell them to come over at once; the council will take place here. I want you, but no more of the police. I want only the head men of each band."
After the officer went out Curtis moved the easy-chairs to the back of the room and set plain ones in a semicircular row at the front. Hardly was he settled when Elk, Grayman, and Two Horns entered the room, and, after formally shaking hands, took the seats assigned them. Their faces, usually smiling, were grave, and Grayman's brow was knotted with lines of anxiety. He was a small man, with long, brown hair, braided and adorned with tufts of the fine feathers which grow under the eagle's wings. He was handsome and neatly dressed, the direct antithesis to Crawling Elk, who was tall and slovenly, with a homely, grandfatherly face deeply seamed with wrinkles, a face that would be recognized as typical of his race. He seemed far less concerned than some of the others.
Two Horns, also quite at his ease, unrolled his pipe and began filling it, while Curtis resumed his writing.
Jennie, looking in at the door, recognized the chiefs, and they all rose politely to greet her.
"I'm coming to the council," she said to Two Horns.
He smiled. "Squaws no come council—no good."
"No, no, heap good," she replied. "We come. Chiefs heap talk—we catchim coffee."
"Good, good!" he replied. "After council, feast."