“Ugh!” this veteran grunted. “What for other Injuns ride after Evil Heart? What for they make him stop and hold palaver? They not do it for nothing. They took no scalps. What else they take? White squaws!”
Having delivered himself of this opinion, in opposition to all the others who had spoken, the old brave sat stolidly on his horse, as if the matter had no further concern for him. Indeed, it had not. He was quite willing to follow either party, for there would be a fine fight at the end of the chase and a rich harvest of scalps—both of which things would satisfy his savage nature.
Buffalo Bill looked at him undecidedly.
“How many summers is it since you followed your first war trail and took your first scalp, Dead Eye?” he asked.
Dead Eye made no reply in words, but he held up the fingers of both hands five times. He had been a full-fledged warrior for fifty years.
“And how many scalps have you taken?”
Dead Eye handed his tomahawk to Buffalo Bill without a word.
The border king examined it with curious interest. It was covered with small notches from the blade to the end of the helve. Each notch, of course, stood for a scalp taken.
“All braves!” grunted Dead Eye. “Me no kill women or children.”
Here was a man, thought Buffalo Bill, whose opinion was worth taking.