The band played, the soldiers "presented arms," the officers touched their hats, and Murray stepped forward and held out his right hand to Many Bears, pointing with his left to the ponies and things.
"There they are. Send Warning has kept his word. Rita is mine."
"Ugh! Good. Presents all right. Young squaw is the daughter of Send Warning."
He shook hands heartily as he said it; but Murray had something more on his mind, and was only waiting for the music to stop.
"Listen," he said. "I tell you a big truth. Rita is my own daughter. When you burn ranche in Mexico many summers ago, burn mine, take horses, cattle, mules, take away little girl—all that was mine. Got little girl back now. Apaches all good friends of mine."
"Send Warning not come back to lodge?"
"Not now. Go to my own people for a while. Show them my daughter. Say found her again."
"Ugh! Send Warning is a wise man. Cunning chief. Throw dust in the eyes of the Apaches."
It was plain that the chief was troubled in his mind; he hardly knew whether to be angry or not. But there was no reasonable objection to Murray's doing as he pleased with his own daughter after she had cost him so many ponies.
Murray spoke again. "Send Warning say what great chief do. Let Ni-ha-be come with Rita to pale-face lodges. Stay awhile. Learn to hear Talking Leaves. Then come back to her friends. What say?"