He ceased abruptly at the stranger's fierce ejaculation. The Indian seemed about to spring on him.
"But," the half-breed went on in haste, "my brother will destroy the shame, and the scars will go." He leaned forward and touched the savage lightly on his bare shoulder. "They are the scars from the white man's prison," he said.
For a moment the stranger's face was a study in livid hate. Then all expression died from it, leaving it stolid as before.
The half-breed smoked in silence. His surmises had been correct. This was indeed the young hero of the sun dance, the news of whose imprisonment had, by chance, come to his ears but a short time before. He considered. Finally, he turned to his guest once more.
"My brother has travelled many miles," he said. "Tell me, has he seen the lodges of his people?"
"The prairies have been waste."
"I will tell you why. The great white war chief has gone with his young men beyond Pah-sap-pah. There the warriors will strike him and destroy him. My brother's people are there."
The hate came back into the Indian's face with a flash. He fingered the haft of a knife that lay near his hand.
"I will join my people," he said.
"And aid them. It is well. But will my brother go alone and without arms?"