If a shell had exploded among them these Indians would have sat quite still while Death selected his prey; and now, at the burst of Storm's words, they kept their quietude, their dignity. Only they turned their eyes reproachfully upon their chief. Their breathing seemed to stop, but no face changed. In sheer relief the chief relaxed against the backrest, and a queer smile, shy, friendly, as of a dog to his master, sought Storm's approval.
Before they sent for Storm the members of the council had been agreed that this white man was unfit to marry, hunt, or fight, and least of all to hold great property. They had placed him beneath the level of their dogs, and in return he gave them a gun to every hunter. Their chief would not have done so.
Never again would famine camp among their lodges, and war could not invade their mountain stronghold. The tribes allied with them for hunting buffalo—East Kutenais, Flatheads, Nez Perces, Pend d'Oreilles, Cœur d'Alènes, Spokanes, Yakimas combined, could never attack with arrows a people armed with guns. Best armed of all the tribes, they should ride safely into the barred hunting grounds of the powerful Blackfoot Confederation. Truly this dog had fangs!
"I thought you would be pleased," said the white man easily, as he stirred the smoldering fire until it blazed. "But there are points you do not think of until I speak about them. This trading of furs for guns needs a white man's brain to match against the Hudson's Bay Company, whose trader would get the best of any Indian. I shall send my white man, Hiram Kant, whom you call Hunt-the-girls."
The grave Indians were smiling as they heard that new name for the trapper.
"You would have shot and wasted him, but I need him, and kept him for this trading. I want one of you chiefs to go with Hunt-the-girls and see that you get the guns here to this camp—or kill him. Only a chief shall do this, because Hunt-the-girls is a chief, as all of you know in your hearts, all of you sitting here. You shall choose who is to go, to help him, or shoot him as the case may be.
"But of these medicine irons. They are only sticks, dead rubbish unless you have the medicine powder, and the medicine balls. Long ago I knew that my father was dying, and that I should prepare this gift. For that reason I made, as you know, a carriole load and a canoe load of bullets. I tried, you may remember, long ago, to make the powder, but my medicine was no good. For this kind of work Hunt-the-girls has better medicine than mine, so I let him make the powder. He gets a trapper's outfit for his pay.
"You shall not have the powder and ball to blow away and waste. They shall belong to Two Bits, and she will sell them to you in trade for furs. The higher the price she charges for ball and powder, the less will be thrown away in idle shooting. These are my orders. If you don't like them, I'm ready to fight anybody who wants shooting, or I'll take on the crowd—as you please.
"Now, I have one thing more to say. I will have Two Bits rich and powerful in the tribe because she has more sense than any of you, and she will keep Sitting Wolf out of mischief. You cannot! When the chief is jealous he goes mad, and flies at the throat of his nearest friend. Two Bits will tame him—already he eats out of her hand.
"That's all, I think."