It was not long before the ugly traits in the Indian character began to come to the front. Several of the braves, reeling to their feet, yelled and shouted defiantly at one another, declaring, as most men are apt to do when they are drunk, that they could “lick the earth.” Old enemies and feuds were recalled under the influence of the liquor, and there would have been more than one deadly fight had it not been for the restraining influence of Running Water, aided by Buffalo Bill and the other whites, who had become very popular with most of the warriors on account of the rich presents they had brought. The old chief was a pretty clever diplomatist, and he succeeded in calming down the angry braves until the more drunken and quarrelsome of them, taking more of the whisky, sank into a stupor. Black Panther was one of those who had indulged heavily, but the liquor did not seem to take quite the same effect on him as it did on the others. He seemed to retain his senses perfectly, but, as he took drink after drink, his fierce black eyes became fixed upon the white men with an even deadlier glance of hatred. He did not think of any quarrels that he might have with his own tribesmen. One of the great passions of his life was hatred of the whites, and it came uppermost now. This hatred was particularly concentrated upon Buffalo Bill, whom he knew to be the leader of the little party. The memory of the presents he had received that afternoon did not soothe him, by any means. Indeed, he had clean forgotten them under the influence of the whisky. He thought of only one thing--that he hated all white men, and particularly Buffalo Bill. Running Water had not touched a drop of the liquor. When Buffalo Bill had asked him why, early in the evening, he had replied: “Fire water bad for de man. Make him fool. Make him act like crazy man. Running Water must watch his braves. Running Water cannot drink.” But of all the braves whom the chief watched, there was none he kept his eye on more intently than Black Panther. That warrior said no word, but he looked steadily at Buffalo Bill with a baleful glare that would have done credit to the ferocious animal after which he was named. “Black Panther bad to-night,” said the chief, in a whisper to Buffalo Bill. “He hate all white men--he hate you most. Be ready. He want to fight, but I try to stop him.” “All right, chief,” replied the border king. “I’m sure I don’t want to fight him, if I can help it. You have treated us well, and we don’t want to have any trouble. We’d like to remain friends with all your band.” The words were hardly spoken, when Black Panther rose suddenly to his feet and commenced to declaim a loud, passionate speech which even awakened some of the drunken sleepers. Buffalo Bill could not understand many of the words. Although he was familiar with some dialects of the Sioux tongue, he did not know the particular one spoken by this band.