“Me know um Pa-c-has-ka,” said Big Thunder calmly. “Him friend of Poncas, and him got good heart. Him no let squaw get away from Ponca brave.”
“What is your name?” asked the scout of the girl.
“Wah-coo-tah,” was the answer.
“That’s a Sioux name.”
“Me Cheyenne, no Sioux. Name Wah-coo-tah.”
The girl had a rippling, musical voice, very different from the usually hard, strident voices of Indian women.
“Very well, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout, “I’ll take your word for it. Why was the Ponca chasing you?”
“Me no like um.”
“Did your father sell you to the Ponca?”
“Ai. Me no like um, me run ’way. Him ketch Wah-coo-tah, then Wah-coo-tah kill herself.”