"The Red Hatchet is my friend, the friend of our people. Oh, sir! I beg you not to do him harm!"
Instantly did Kit Carey stoop, and unloosen the noose and coil, while he extended his hand, and said:
"Rise, chief, and, believe me, I feel sorry at having made you a prisoner, though to find you here near the retreat of the hostiles I could but take you for a foe, while you are also in full war-paint and battle costume. Why is this, chief?"
"The Red Hatchet wears a double face now. He is the friend of the pale faces, yet not the foe of his people. He will not be a traitor Sioux, and only when in war-paint and feathers can he talk to his braves as one who is not a coward, and urge them not to strike the blow that will destroy them."
The words were delivered with a natural oratory, for which many Indians are noted, and they had their effect even upon such an old frontiersman as was Kit Carey, for he said frankly:
"Again, I say that I am sorry, chief, so let us be friends, though I could swear that I saw you lead the attempted rescue of Sitting Bull, and several times seek my life."
"The Red Hatchet was not there at the death of our great medicine chief," was the quick response of the Sioux.
"Then it was your twin brother?"
"No, no, sir; the Red Hatchet was not there, and I beg you will allow him to go," quickly said Jennie Bernard.
"May I ask, miss, how you heard down here of the death of Sitting Bull, so soon after its happening," and the eyes of the officer were fixed searchingly upon the face of the maiden.