Tumult at once placed himself in an attitude of defense, but a sign from the chief put at rest all fears of an encounter. He showed that his presence there was fraught with peace and friendship, although Old Tumult had always known him as an enemy.
Our friends recognized the chief’s token of friendship by dropping their rifles and folding their arms over their breasts.
“Good!” ejaculated the chief; “the great Tumult and his friend know that Mahaska comes with friendship in his breast.”
“You bet, chief,” returned the scout, extending his large, bony hand; “it’s hard to mistake that jolly twinkle in yer eye—it means, no skulps wanted.”
“The great Tumult is wise. His tongue is straight. His arm is strong. His eyes are keen. His aim is deadly, but Mahaska knows he will not strike a friend.”
“You’re right there, great chief,” returned the scout, determined to pay an equal amount of compliments; “I know yer a brave chief, a splendid feller, a brillunt scholar, a good jedge of whisky, and a brick o’ a boy in general.”
The chief reared himself proudly. Although he did not fully understand the English of the scout’s complimentary remarks, he took it all as something very fine.
“The great Tumult and Mahaska,” the chief began, “are friends now. Mahaska was concealed in the brush there, when the white men come here to talk. He heard them speak well of the Sioux, and bad of the Arapaho and his white ally. The words of the great scout were words of wisdom and truth, and they have sunk deep into the breast of Mahaska. He will never forget them, and here offers to smoke the pipe of peace with the great Tumult and his friend.”
“That’s business, chief,” replied Tumult, with a sly wink at Town.; “bring on your pipe o’ peace, and a ‘bottle o’ friendship,’ if ye’ve got it. I promise that my people will never harm the Sioux, if the Sioux will keep on his side o’ the creek, and furever bury the hatchet o’ discord and enmity.”
“Mahaska pledges the friendship of his people.”