The ice was broken. Red Wolf understood that tongue as well as Steve did.
"You are my brother. You are not a pale-face."
Steve was not altogether ignorant of Indian manners and of their bitter prejudices, and he replied:
"Brother. Yes. All right. I am an Apache now. Fight for tribe. Fight for brother."
That was precisely what he had already done, so that it was more than a mere profession, but the reply of Red Wolf had a great deal of frankness in it:
"Red Wolf is an Apache. He hates pale-faces. Glad his brother has come to be an Apache. Eat with him now. Show him foolish young squaw that ran away and got caught. Squaw know very little."
They had walked along for some distance when Red Wolf said that he was very near his own camp fire. He had not intended this remark for any ears but those of Steve Harrison, and his pride forbade his noticing the ripple of laughter which immediately followed it.
"Did you hear him, Rita?" said Ni-ha-be. "He was one of the braves who went to find the ford. They forgot to ask the squaws where to look for it."
Steve heard the rippling laugh, but he did not understand the words. Could they be making fun of him?
His cheeks burned red hot at the thought of it, for he turned his head just long enough to see that those two pairs of bright and searching eyes were looking straight at him. They dropped instantly, but not before they had seen the quick flush rise to his face.