“The Big Buffalo has understood.”
Menard slowly rose and looked into the Indian’s eyes.
“I have no weapons, Tegakwita. The chiefs who have set me free have not yet returned the musket which was taken from me. It is dangerous to go at night through the forest without a weapon. Give me your hatchet and I will go with you.”
Tegakwita’s lip curled almost imperceptibly.
“The White Chief is afraid of the night?” 292
Menard, too, looked scornful. He coolly waited.
“The Big Buffalo cannot face the dead without a hatchet in his hand?” said Tegakwita.
Menard suddenly sprang forward and snatched the hatchet from the Indian’s belt. It was a surprise, and the struggle was brief. Tegakwita was thrown a step backward. He hesitated between struggling for the hatchet and striking with the musket; before he had fully recovered and dropped the musket, Menard had leaped back and stood facing him with the hatchet in his right hand.
“Now I will go with you to the city of the dead, Tegakwita.”
The Indian’s breath was coming quickly, and he stood with clenched fists, taken aback by the Captain’s quickness.