“Oh, sometimes,” replied Cameron carelessly, “when cattle-thieves ride too.”
“Huh?” inquired Crowfoot innocently.
“Yes, some Indians forget all that the Police have done for them, and like coyotes steal upon the cattle at night and drive them over cut-banks.”
“Huh?” inquired Crowfoot again, apparently much interested.
“Yes,” continued Cameron, fully aware that he was giving the old Chief no news, “Eagle Feather will be much wiser when he rides over the plains again.”
“Huh!” ejaculated the Chief in agreement.
“But Eagle Feather,” continued Cameron, “is not the worst Indian. He is no good, only a little boy who does what he is told.”
“Huh?” inquired Crowfoot with childlike simplicity.
“Yes, he is an old squaw serving his Chief.”
“Huh?” again inquired Crowfoot, moving his pipe from his mouth in his apparent anxiety to learn the name of this unknown master of Eagle Feather.