“A big chief,” he said tersely, “not come to treaty council.”
“You mean Black Hawk?” asked Ben, with a quick glance at the attentive Tom.
“Ugh! Black Hawk, Sac chief.”
“We did hear,” commented Tom cautiously, “that Black Hawk is sulking in his lodge beyond the big river. Does that mean bad medicine for the whites?”
“Ugh! bad, bad medicine!”
There was a brief, tense pause.
“Have you ever seen Black Hawk?” asked Ben Gordon, finally breaking the ice.
“Ho! many time, at big fort. Painting on his blanket, blood-red hand.”
“Holy smokes, a blood-red hand on his blanket!” exclaimed Ben.
“What does that signify?” Tom inquired.