"Ugh!" said Red Wolf again, handling it respectfully. "Heap knife."
He passed it to his father, and it went from hand to hand among the warriors, treated by each in turn as if it were a special privilege to become acquainted with it, or as if it were a kind of enchanted weapon, capable of doing its own killing.
"Bowie, knife!" said Castro, when he at last returned it to its owner, unintentionally using the very term that was thenceforward to be given to all blades of that pattern.
"All right," said the colonel, but he turned to call out to his two friends,—
"Travis? Crockett? Come along. I want a full talk with Tetzcatl. There's more than you think in a scout across the Rio Grande. Let's go on into the fort."
"I'm willing," said Travis; and on they went toward the Alamo convent, the citadel, and they were followed by Castro and the white-headed Tlascalan.
Red Wolf was not expected to join a council of great chiefs, but he looked after them earnestly, saying to himself,—
"Ugh! Heap war-path! Red Wolf go!"