“Onawata beeg Chief—beeg Chief,” at length the boy said proudly. “He do beeg—beeg t'ing.”
“Yes, he steals my cattle,” said Cameron with stinging scorn.
“No!” replied the Indian sharply. “Little Thunder—Eagle Feather steal cattle—Onawata no steal.”
“I am glad to hear it, then,” said Cameron. “This is a big run of cattle, eh?”
“Yes—beeg—beeg run.” Again the Indian's arm swept the room.
“What will they do with all those cattle?” inquired Cameron.
But again the Indian ignored his question and remained silently smoking.
“Why does the son of Onawata come to me?” inquired Cameron.
A soft and subtle change transformed the boy's face. He pulled up his trouser leg and, pointing to the scarred ankle, said:
“You' squaw good—me two leg—me come tell you take squaw 'way far—no keel. Take cattle 'way—no steal.” He rose suddenly to his feet. “Me go now,” he said, and passed out.