It was about three o’clock in the afternoon when we directed our steps to the lodge of Tashota. The chief was alone; not a movement of eye or feature betrayed that he meant mischief to the person or property of his visitors. Yet all the while a deep-laid plot had been arranged, to rob, and if necessary to kill, the Sioux after he had quitted the camp.
“I am starting this evening,” said the Sioux as he seated himself at the fire. “I am going north to the posts of the white traders, and the journey is long. I have come to bid my brother farewell.”
The chief nodded, and Red Cloud continued: “I have heard rumours of war between the Ogahalla Sioux and your people. For myself, I raise my hand against no red man; the quarrel of the Ogahallas is their own.”
The chief still kept silence.
Red Cloud arose, and held out his hand across the fire; the Blood shook it. Then the Sioux lifted the door-curtain of the lodge, and we passed out into the open.
[Ten minutes later we] two men, with seven horses, [rode slowly from the camp].
[Ten minutes later we rode slowly from the camp.]