"The Spanish soldier's medicine was very weak," remarked Iskatappe.
Thus they chatted, waiting and watching. Pretty soon the Spanish, also, moved on, down river. There were at least six hundred of them, all mounted, and twice that number of unsaddled horses and mules, some packed with supplies. To jingle of trappings and murmur of voices they proceeded, in a long column. Rich Man, Old Knife, Wolf and Boy Scar Head followed, by the other river bank, keeping out of sight in the brush and hollows.
At sunset the Spanish halted to form camp, beside the river.
"We had better go in before dark," Rich Man directed. "Or they might shoot at us. We had better go in while their pots are full, for my belly is empty."
So they rose boldly from their covert under the bank of the river, and crossed for the Spanish camp, their buffalo-robes tightly about them.
The camp was spread out in a circle over a wide area. Several chiefs' lodges had been set up, countless fires were smoking, horses whinnied, mules brayed, medicine pipes (horns) tooted, and a myriad of figures moved busily, getting water, going on herd, arranging the packs, marching to and fro as if in a dance, or clustering around the fires.
