“What’s the matter?” demanded Cody, in English, suddenly seeing that the young man was in a despondent mood.
“I am an outcast from my people.”
“What’s all that for? I should think the bloody devils would have rejoiced over your killing of poor Danforth,” muttered the scout.
“Let me tell Pa-e-has-ka the tale,” began Red Knife oratorically. “The Sioux did indeed rejoice over the death of the young white chief. Red Knife was then a great warrior. But since misery has come upon him.”
“And serve him right!” muttered Cody.
With many a flourish of flowery phrase, the buck went on to recount his fight with the bear and the loss of his medicine-bag. He displayed the half-healed wounds made by the bear, and Cody saw that the story was true. Knowing well how great a matter this loss was to the Indian, the scout could not help but feeling some pity for him.
Besides, Red Knife had only followed out his savage instincts and code of honor in killing Danforth. And putting aside his personal desire for vengeance, Buffalo Bill saw that he might make use of the young brave. It was not against the ordinary bucks who had been in the fight that the scout felt hatred. Boyd Bennett had lied to Oak Heart, made him believe that Danforth’s expedition was after the old chief, and had led and planned the attack upon the soldiers and brought about their massacre.
It was the renegade—he who called himself Death Killer, medicine chief of the Sioux—whom Buffalo Bill wished to get!
Buffalo Bill had taken many desperate chances in his life. From the time when, as a younker of eleven years, he had hired out to the freighter at Leavenworth to do a man’s work for a man’s pay, and became a messenger riding between the long freight-trains on the overland trail, he had faced death in many forms and on many occasions. But in determining to go to the Sioux encampment to keep his tryst with White Antelope, he seemed to be passing the limit of reckless daring!
Yet he believed that he had a chance for life. He would risk it, at least.