good one, because it fitted. Fire might be his medicine; the stiff bright hairs of his face were the red sparks, shooting out
The American chief had camped at only a short distance from the Pawnee town, waiting on peace or war. There were shouts of welcome, for Baroney and Sparks, and many curious gazes for Scar Head. He rode proudly, on his yellow pony, with his warrior's bow and arrows, his chief-beaded moccasins, his bracelet and his white cow-robe. He was no longer afraid of the Americans. Baroney took him on to Chief Pike, who was standing beside his saddled horse.
The camp lodges had been struck, the Americans were ready to march.
Baroney explained to the young chief. Chief Pike listened—he nodded, and spoke, and with a smile reached to shake Scar Head's hand. The medicine man also spoke, and smiled, and shook hands. The young second chief came and did the same. Then they got on their horses.
"It is well," said Baroney to Scar Head. "You will ride in front, with the chiefs."
"Where do we go?"
"We go to the mountains, and to find the Ietans."
Scar Head said nothing, to that. It was a long way, and the danger way, but he was with braves
