“Onawata, the Sioux, is a great Chief,” said Cameron.
Crowfoot grunted his indifference.
“He makes all the little Chiefs, Blood, Piegan, Sarcee, Blackfeet obey him,” said Cameron in a scornful voice, shading his face from the fire with his hand.
This time Crowfoot made no reply.
“But he has left this country for a while?” continued Cameron.
Crowfoot grunted acquiescence.
“My brother has not seen this Sioux for some weeks?” Again Cameron's hand shaded his face from the fire while his eyes searched the old Chief's impassive countenance.
“No,” said Crowfoot. “Not for many days. Onawata bad man—make much trouble.”
“The big war is going on good,” said Cameron, abruptly changing the subject.
“Huh?” inquired Crowfoot, looking up quickly.