Chapter VIII.
refusal to go out with the hunters was a strange thing to come from Red Wolf. No other young brave in that band of Apaches had a better reputation for killing deer and buffaloes. It was a common saying among the older squaws that when he came to have a lodge of his own "there would always be plenty of meat in it." He was not, therefore, "a lazy Indian," and it was something he had on his mind that kept him in the camp that day. It had also made him beckon to Ni-ha-be, and look very hard after Rita when she hurried away toward the bushes with her three magazines of "talking leaves." Red Wolf was curious. He hardly liked to say as much to a squaw, even such a young squaw as Ni-ha-be, and his own sister, but he had some questions to ask her nevertheless.
He might have asked some of them of his father, but the great war chief of that band of Apaches was now busily watching Dolores and her saucepan, and everybody knew better than to speak to him just before supper. Ni-ha-be saw at a glance what was the matter with her haughty brother, and she was glad enough to tell him all there was to know of how and where the talking leaves had been found.
"Did they speak to you?"
"No; but I saw pictures."
"Pictures of what?"
"Mountains, big lodges, trees, braves, pale-face squaws, pappooses, white men's bears, and pictures that lied. Not like anything."
"Ugh! Bad medicine. Talk too much. So blue-coat soldier throw them away."
"They talk to Rita."