The command was instantly obeyed. The murmurings ceased, and all placed themselves in fixed attitudes to listen.
Chapter Ninety Seven.
Speeches in Council.
“Hietans!” began the chief, for such in reality was the old Indian, “my children, and brothers in council! I appeal to you to stay judgment in this matter. I am your chief, but I claim no consideration on that account; Wakono is my son, but for him I ask no favour; I demand only justice and right—such as would be given to the humblest in on tribe; I ask no more for my son Wakono.
“Wakono is a brave warrior; who among you does not know it? His shield is garnished with many trophies taken from the hated pale-face; his leggings are fringed with scalps of the Utah and Cheyenne; at his heels drag the long locks of the Pawnee and Arapaho. Who will deny that Wakono—my son Wakono—is a brave warrior?”
A murmur of assent was the response to this paternal appeal.
“The Spanish wolf, too, is a warrior—a brave warrior; I deny it not. He is stout of heart and strong of arm; he has taken many scalps from the enemies of the Hietan; I honour him for his achievements; who among us does not?”
A general chorus of “ughs” and other ejaculations from both council and spectators responded to this interrogatory. The response, both in tone and manner, was strongly in the affirmative; and I could tell by this that the renegade—not Wakono—was the favourite.