Big Thunder, seeing how he was corralled, grunted savagely, drew himself to his full height, and folded his arms.
“Injun thought Pa-e-has-ka friend of Poncas!” he exclaimed scathingly.
“I’m the friend of the Poncas, all right, Big Thunder,” answered the scout, “but the girl did not want to go with you.”
“Ponca buy her, make um go!”
“Not while I’m around. Keep your hands off that girl, understand?”
“Ponca no keep hands off Pa-e-has-ka. Bymby, Pa-e-has-ka’s scalp dry in Big Thunder’s lodge; Big Thunder make um Cheyenne girl tie um scalp on hoop, hang um up.”
“Hyer ther pizen red!” snarled the trapper. “Hadn’t I better rattle this hyar pepper-box o’ mine at ther threatenin’ varmint?”
“No.” The scout looked in the direction taken by the girl. She had got far beyond the point to which she had drawn his attention, and had vanished. “I reckon Wah-coo-tah’s all right, Nick. Put up your gun and we’ll ride on to Sun Dance.”
Unconcernedly, the scout walked to Bear Paw and mounted.
Big Thunder, still erect and with his arms folded, followed the scout’s movements with eyes of hate.