"Damned clever," said Rising Wolf, "perfectly convincing, and devilish subtle. And why do you want to win me over?"
"Is this the moment for telling?" asked Rain. "Should we not win you first?"
"A common woman," the man was thinking, "would have bargained with her horses. She is at least a lady. And she claims that father is dying. Suppose it were true! After all, I don't think she means any harm, or that I'm frightened."
"Please," he said, "will you take me to my father?"
"Not while your heart is bad."
"Why not?"
"Because your coming would spoil your father's peace while he is dying. So I will take you in your dream to see other people until your heart is good. Who would you like to see?"
"Adventurers, fellows like me. I understand them best."
The French-Canadian mother side of Rising Wolf was very superstitious, had to be bitted severely, and reined hard lest it run away with the pawky Monroe strain in his character. Now, both his womanly intuition and his Scots intellect were leagued together against the noble pig-headed tenacity of his Indian training.
"I won't be fooled," he said all through that afternoon, while he held himself proudly aloof from Rain and haunted Storm like a peevish ghost to show his independence. Storm would tell him nothing, but went fishing with Rain's brother Heap-of-dogs. Like all good Blackfeet, Heap-of-dogs despised fish as unclean, but being a sportsman found that rainbow trouts were rather good fun. Neither Heap-of-dogs nor Storm took heed of Rising Wolf and his worries; indeed the Indian's mind was set upon his fond ambition to get Storm's golden scalp as a trophy of war. But Rain objected.