“Guess notty,” replied Congo. “Come—be goody, Mr. Running Water. You great chiefy.”
The Indian smiled, and replied with a brief eulogy upon his own greatness, of which Joe could understand but little except the drift, but he nodded gravely at the end of each sentence, and repeated:
“Great chiefy.”
But the potent leader did not deport himself like one at liberty to do all that he pleased.
He looked carefully on either side of him, and particularly in the direction in which Black Panther had vanished, and then informed Congo that he would meet his brother in one of the remote wigwams, which he pointed out to him.
“Him go; I come,” he said.
“An’ bring Cap’n Bully Boy?” asked the negro.
“Yes, me bring um.”
Joe returned with this message, being careful to keep his eye on the lodge which had been named as the rendezvous, and Buffalo Bill, with hopes slightly revived, was soon on his way thither, accompanied by the negro, and regardless of the renewed entreaties of Captain Meinhold to embark, and of the threats of some of the party that they would seize the boats and go without him.