young squaw. "Someone is looking for a wife in our lodge."
"Who is there, to be married?" the old squaw demanded.
"We are the only women, so it must be that someone is in love with me," the young squaw giggled again.
"You!" scoffed the old squaw. "Who would look at you? You are not worth a horse. No; the horse offering is made for me."
And they both laughed. They knew better than to rouse Charakterik and tell him. Their business was to get the breakfast, and let him discover the horse, himself.
White Wolf and the American soldier were still snoozing upon their buffalo-robe couches. Pretty soon Scar Head could wait no longer. He went outside, yawning and rubbing his eyes, and pretended to be surprised by the horse.
"Whose horse is that?" he queried.
"Ask it, and maybe you will know more than we do."
"Who brought it?"
"That is none of our affair; nor of yours, either. It was here when we came out."
"It had not been here very long," added the
