Therefore the scout made a great show of consulting the compass, holding it in his hand while the little needle waggled cheerfully to his movements, pointing ever to the north. Finally Red Knife spoke--breathlessly: “Does the magic cup speak to Long Hair? If so, its voice is very low. Does it tell where lies the lodges of my people?” “It does not speak. But it answers the question,” declared Cody gravely. “A marvelous magic!” exclaimed Red Knife. “The white chief worships the spirit of the cup?” “This is a great medicine, Red Knife,” said Cody seriously. “Now mark! We wish to know how to travel to reach the lodges of your people. Long Hair knows that we are south and west of the village. We look into the cup.” He thrust the compass under the Indian’s nose, and Red Knife had hard work to keep from jumping back. “Look! See the finger which moves?” “Ugh! It is magic!” muttered the young brave. “That finger points ever to the cold land--to the lands from which winter comes. Always to the north it points. Therefore, so standing and facing the north, my right hand points to the sunrise, my left to the sunset,” suiting the action to his words. “Behind me is the south. Therefore, by facing the sunrise and bearing off somewhat to the north of that, we approach the village of Chief Oak Heart.” “Ugh! It is wonder-work, indeed!” exclaimed Red Knife. “It is a great medicine.” “It is a great and good medicine. No brave in Red Knife’s tribe has a medicine like this.” “There are no two medicines alike in this world,” grunted the brave philosophically. Cody went to the bag strapped to Chief’s saddle, unbuckled a pocket, and brought out a small packet tied in wash-leather and oilskin. When he was in Denver he had made a purchase for a brother scout, but so far had not run up against the man to give it to him. He came back to the fire, squatted down beside Red Knife, and unwrapped the exact counterpart of his own “magic cup,” only this was brighter and unused. “Waugh!” ejaculated the Indian, starting back. “You see, here is another of the magic cups. I have long had two medicines,” said Buffalo Bill, drawing slightly on his imagination. “They are good medicines. They have brought me good luck and made me successful in the chase, and in war. The Red Knife has no medicine. What would he do for the possession of this?” and the scout held out the compass temptingly. Red Knife could barely restrain himself now. His cheeks actually flushed, and his eyes glistened. “The Red Knife is a man!” he cried. “He will fight the Long Hair for the good medicine.” “Nay. The Long Hair cannot battle at once with he whom he has fed. The Red Knife and the Long Hair are brothers. The Long Hair will give his red brother the magic cup,” and he thrust the compass into the brave’s willing hand.