Buffalo Bill’s sympathy for the young man was extreme. He could not bear to give him up, but he had to consider the women first. Yet he spent a considerable portion of the night in talking with the patient chief, and trying to induce a change of action; but as Running Water was evidently acting on principle, and not from passion, the chance of winning him over to the side of mercy was very slight. Nor would it do any good, he said, for him to urge the prisoner’s release, while by such a course he would only render himself unpopular and aid the pretensions of a rival claimant to his station without effecting the end in view. He had no right to command them contrary to their well-established customs, which would seem to be equivalent to the common law of civilized lands. “But will you let me talk to them all together in the morning, and try to persuade them?” Buffalo Bill urged. “Yes,” Running Water promised. He would at least do that. “And will you say to them in your own tongue the words that I speak to them in English, so that they will understand me?” Buffalo Bill did not understand the dialect spoken by the chief. Running Water agreed that he would do that, so far as he could. It was very hard for him to understand his white friend, or to make himself understood by him. It was “slow talk,” he said, and “much fog.” “Let me tell you then, now, part of what I want said to them.” The chief nodded. “A man has a right to kill his enemy in order to save his own life, has he not?” With some difficulty, the Sioux was made to understand this proposition, but when he did he heartily assented to it. “This white man whom you have made prisoner thought that you had come to kill us.” “Uh! No--no! No business t’ink dat.” “No matter. He did think it. He was foolish, I admit; but----” “Much fool!” “Yes--but not much bad. He’s a good man at heart. He’s very sorry. It was a mistake. You will tell them this?” “Yes--me tell um. But no good. The brave, Strong Arm, is dead. See?” The chief pointed to the corpse, which still lay unsheltered and watched by the faithful widow. “Was that his name?” “Yes. But he no strong now. A-a-a-a-h!” Something like a wail escaped from the chieftain’s lips, and he shook his head angrily. “But you will tell them?” “Yes.” “Tell them that the white man thought he was defending his life?” “Yes--him fool!” “You need not say that. You will speak for me. You will use my tongue. Do you understand?” “Yes. My white brother is right.” “Tell them that the white man’s God is the same as the red man’s Great Spirit--that He is up there looking down on all of us now.” Running Water looked up to the sky, and bowed his head reverently. “Yes,” he said. “Manitou there. Running Water hear Him thunder--Running Water see His fire in the sky many times. But he not think Manitou was the white man’s God.” “There is but one God,” replied Cody. “He has ‘made of one blood all the nations of men.’” “It may be so.”