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They will leave you alone with your own thoughts. They do not ask for your answer right now. They would wish you to sleep upon it. When the sun has risen over Washakee Peak they will come again into the wigwam of Little Cayuse. He will then give them his answer. If it is Yes, they will rejoice; all the Crow nation will be glad. If it is No, their hearts will be heavy.
"Tell me this, Simon," said Kiddie, seeming to change the subject from warfare to hunting. "Exactly how did you learn of that herd of buffalo, back of Washakee Peak?" Simon Sprott was meditatively puffing at his tobacco pipe; but he paused to answer "Word was brought in by one of our scouts." "Did that scout see the herd with his own eyes?" Kiddie pursued.
"It's possible," he acknowledged; "quite possible, but not just likely. And why should the trapper, if he was a spy, tell the scout that the buffalo were there, and even recommend the hunt?" "Yes, why?" Kiddie asked. "For my own part, I don't believe that there's a herd of buffalo within a hundred miles of Washakee Peak.
It's years since I've heard my mother tongue spoken as you speak it, and I'm sore longing to have a chat with a friend who isn't a Crow Indian. Your young partner'd like to stay, if I know anything of boyhood. The adventure would suit him, and to-morrow the Crows are going out on a buffalo hunt. A big herd has been seen, back of Washakee Peak." Kiddie glanced towards Rube.
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