He well knew the regard in which the Indian holds his medicine-bag. If he could restore to Red Knife his medicine, or, rather, supply him with a new amulet that would make him a man and a citizen again, the scout could command his good offices to almost any extent.
But the scout said nothing further that night. He let his observations regarding the renegade Bennett sink into the red man’s mind. In the morning he fed him bountifully again. When he had finished, Red Knife showed that he had digested Cody’s remarks well, and was in some measure grateful for the entertainment shown him.
“The Long Hair is my brother. He has warmed me and fed me. If the Long Hair really desires to appear before Oak Heart and the old men of the tribe, as he has promised, Red Knife may show him a way.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the scout. “Some way that Death Killer is not guarding with his braves, eh?”
“It may be.”
“In which direction is it?”
“The Long Hair knows the direction of the encampment, perhaps? Red Knife, wandering in broken spirit, has lost his way.”
“Oh, you want to know the direction of the place?”
“It is so. The lodges of his people will not receive Red Knife, but he may point them out, by a secret way, to the Long Hair.”
“Humph! Let’s see the direction,” muttered Cody, and drew from under his shirt a small compass in a brass cup which was hung about his neck by a strong cord.