The Indian sat back on his horse and glared angrily at Nomad, at the scout, and at the girl.
“Me take um squaw,” grunted the Ponca. “Her b’long to Ponca.”
“She’s a Cheyenne,” said the scout. “How can a Cheyenne belong to a Ponca?”
“Me buy um squaw with ponies,” asserted the Indian. “Me take her from Cheyenne village, and she make um run. Ugh! Give Big Thunder squaw.”
“You bought this girl of the Cheyennes?” demanded the scout.
“Wuh! Pay um all same so many ponies.”
The Ponca held up five fingers.
Buffalo Bill looked at the girl attentively. He had never seen a prettier Indian girl. Her features were regular, and her large, liquid-black eyes gave her countenance almost a Spanish cast. Her garments were of buckskin, beaded and fringed, and her blanket was of a subdued color, clean and new. Broad silver bands encircled her forearms and her shapely wrists, and her hands were small and delicately formed.
The buck, on the other hand, was a rough-looking specimen of a Ponca.
“Speakin’ free an’ free, as between men an’ feller sports,” observed Nomad, “I kain’t blame ther gal none fer runnin’ erway.”