Such testimony from a man who had given proof of his own prowess, and who was, as their keen eyes told them, himself a great warrior, did wonders for the fame of Red Wolf. It was almost as much as if he had taken and brought home a scalp.
"Young men go," said Many Bears. "Send Warning stay with gray heads."
Steve walked away at his new friend's side, both of them a little puzzled what to do or say, until Steve asked a question in Mexican Spanish.
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. His father is a great chief. 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, and when Red Wolf said that he was very near his own campfire. He had not intended it for any ears but those of Steve Harrison, and his pride forbade his noticing the ripple of laughter which immediately followed it. Not even when he heard Ni-ha-be say, in her own dialect,