“No one else.”
“Then the bear belongs to you. That is, the pelt is yours; the flesh belongs to all, but you have the right to divide it. This is the custom of the West. Have you anything to say, Mr. Rattler?”
Rattler growled something that condemned us to a much warmer climate, and turned sullenly to the wagon where the liquor was stored. I saw him pour down glass after glass, and knew he would drink till he could drink no more.
The Indians had listened to our discussion, and watched us in silent interest; but now, our affairs being settled, the chief, Intschu-Tschuna, turned to the head engineer, saying: “My ear has told me that among these pale-faces you are chief; is this so?”
“Yes,” Bancroft replied.
“Then I have something to say to you.”
“What is it?”
“You shall hear. But you are standing, and men should sit in conference.”
“Will you be our guest?” asked Bancroft.
“No, for it is impossible. How can I be your guest when you are on my lands, in my forests, my valleys, my prairies? Let the white men be seated.”