the Indians' march, and soon came up with their camp, which he entered
with appropriate ceremony, followed by his retinue--half-breed
interpreter, Delaware trailers, French horse-herders, and two real
Yellow-Eyed men--white Rocky Mountain trappers.

He sought the head chief, and they all gathered in the council tepee.
There they smoked and passed the pipe. The squaws brought kettles of
buffalo-meat, and the eager youngsters crowded the door until a
camp-soldier stood in the way to bar them back. The subchiefs sat in
bronze calm, with their robes drawn in all dignity about them.

When all was ready, Mr. McIntish stood in the middle of the lodge and
spoke with great warmth and feeling, telling them that Chis-chis-chash
warriors had stolen his horse-herd--that he had traced it to their camp
and demanded its return. He accused them of perfidy, and warned
them that from thence on no more traders would ever come into their
country, but would give their guns to the Absaroke, who would thus be
able to overwhelm them in war. No more would the chiefs drink of the
spring-water they loved so well--no more would a white man pass the pipe
with the Chis-chis-chash if justice was not done; and much more which
elicited only meaningless grunts from the stoic ring of listeners.

When he had finished and sat down, the head chief arose slowly, and
stepping from the folds of his robe, he began slowly to talk, making
many gestures. "If the white chief had tracked the stolen ponies to his
camp, let him come out to the Indian pony-herds and point them out. He
could take his horses."

The face of the trader grew hard as he faced the snare into which the
chief had led him, and the lodge was filled with silence.