“Quite a fight,” acknowledged Ben.
“And the right fellow came out on top,” added Tom, with evident satisfaction.
“I kinda think so,” the frontiersman agreed. “From what I hear, that Prairie Wolf is a nasty one, ’bout the wust young ruffian in the hull Sac tribe.”
“Do you suppose this duel will make bad blood between the Sacs and Pottawattomees?” questioned Ben.
“It no doubt will, as they is pizen enemies to start with. The tribal lands o’ the two touch each other, an’ ther’s alus a ruckus goin’ on over who’s gittin’ on whose territory.”
“Bright Star will have to watch his step,” Tom observed sagely. “The Wolf looks like the type who will plot his vengeance.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him to knife the Pottawattomee in the back, some dark night,” Ben put in.
“Well, jest ’member, lads, that ther wouldn’t be anythin’ wrong with that, ’cordin’ to Injun law. They believe strickly in an eye fer an eye, an’ a tooth fer a tooth. The white man’s code is beyond the understandin’ of a feathered savage.”
“Do you think,—err—?” Tom began.
“Oh, I’m beggin’ yer pardon,” broke in the frontiersman genially. “I’m Bill Brown, an’ I came ’rig’nally from Kentucky, but I’ve been a hunter an’ trapper an’ scout up this way fer the last ten years.”