you sideways, and Skidi is likely to harm you. So I give you to the American chief, to be rid of you before you are hurt. He asked me to send you away. If I keep you it may mean trouble for me also. Get your horse. These two men are waiting."
His brain in a whirl, Scar Head hastened out, for his yellow pony. As he passed through the village, there were scowls and jeers, because now nobody respected him as the chief's son; but he did not care. He was an American, and these Pawnees were no longer his people. So he tried to walk fast, like an American, and pay no attention to the black looks and the slurs.
He rode back, on his pony. The two men were waiting, on their horses, with the other horse in tow. White Wolf's lodge received him kindly. His brother, White Wolf's real son, handed him a horn bow and otter-skin quiver of arrows.
"They are for you. Do not forget your brother."
The old squaw put new beaded moccasins upon his feet.
"They are for you. Do not forget your mother."
The young squaw clasped a silver bracelet upon his wrist.
"It is for you. Do not forget your sister."
