Outside of the village, on the edge of the timber, two rows of larger boys and girls were playing a mimic game of running the gantlet.
They rehearsed it with great accuracy, excepting that they were very careful not to hit the seemingly frightened fugitive at whom their blows were aimed with apparent fury.
Had not a loud laugh pealed out now and then from the two ranks, and been echoed by the runner himself, the scene might have seemed as real as the terrible one shortly to be enacted by the braves.
Running Water did not require to be reminded of his promise to the king of the scouts. He called a hasty and informal council of his warriors in front of his own lodge. They came to it rather wonderingly, and some of them were a bit surly, for they did not wish their sport to be deferred by talking.
He told them that their white brethren had something to say to them, but he was interrupted by derisive cries, and by inquiries whether the palefaces could not talk as well to them later on, when the great business of the day was over.
A tall, sinewy brave strode forward. His face bore an expression of courage and daring, but was savage and cruel even beyond that of any of his fellows.
Over his head and shoulders he wore the skin of a large black panther, with the head and its grinning teeth still preserved. He had slain the animal in a hand-to-hand fight with a knife. This deed had won him the respect of his comrades, more than all his other achievements in war and hunting; for the black panther is a foe which some hunters regard as even more terrible than the grizzly bear.
He had been named Black Panther in honor of the deed. Besides being such a distinguished warrior, he was the orator of the tribe. He aspired to the chieftainship of that band of the Sioux nation over which Running Water ruled, but as he had not been able to get it he had left the band and gone to dwell with another. He had returned on a brief visit to his brother shortly before Congo came to the village.
Standing right in front of the chief, with his right arm upraised impressively, Black Panther said:
“Do the palefaces wish to pay for the blood of Strong Arm? How much will they give? The big fire canoe, that makes white the waters of the lake when it passes by, could not carry enough silver to pay for this great crime! The great lake itself could not wash out the sin of our brother’s blood from our hands, if we should accept money for it and let the paleface who slew him go free. Tell that to the palefaces.”