The trail here took a sharp curve to the left to avoid a piece of stony ground, and from a little transverse ridge Curtis could look down on a small, temporary village, the band of Black Wolf, who had located here to cut hay on the marsh.
"We must surprise him if we can," said Curtis to Crow. "We must not shoot. I will talk to him. If he cocks his gun kill him; but I don't think he will want to fight."
The lads could be heard singing their plaintive songs as they climbed the hills for their ponies. Smoke was rising from each lodge, and children, dogs, and hens were outdoing each other in cheerful uproar as Two Horns drove up to where Black Wolf stood, an old man with thin, gray hair, shielding his eyes with the scant shadow of his bony wrist.
"Ho, agent!" he cried. "Why do you come to see us so early?"
"Is Cut Finger here?"
"Yes; he is in there." He pointed to a tepee near.
"Be silent!" commanded Curtis, as he alighted swiftly, but without apparent haste or excitement. Crow instantly followed him, alert and resolute. As they entered the tepee Cut Finger, still half asleep on his willow hammock, instinctively reached for his rifle, which lay beneath him on the ground, dangerous as a half-awakened rattlesnake.
Curtis put his foot on the weapon, and said, pleasantly: "Good-morning, Cut Finger; you sleep late."
The young man sat up and blinked stupidly, while Crow took the gun from beneath the agent's foot.
Curtis signed to Black Wolf. "This boy has killed a herder and I have come for him. You knew of his deed."