Everybody was curious to learn from the Osages and from the two Pawnee-who-had-been-to-Wash’ton what kind of people these Americans were. “They live in a country wider than a week’s travel by horse,” Frank asserted. “You are never out of sight of their lodges.” “Their women have red cheeks, and their men are in number of the buffalo,” the other Pawnee asserted. “They have great guns that shoot a mile and speak twice.” “If they are so powerful and many, why do they send such a little company into this country, when the Spanish father sent half a thousand soldiers at once?” inquired Skidi. “These are spies.” “They brought us forty-six of our relatives, from the Potawatomi,” said an Osage. “They asked for horses to go on with, but we sold them few. Now by orders of the great father at Wash’ton we are to make peace with the Kansas. The great father wishes his red children to fight no more.” “It is all because there is talk of war between the Spanish and the Americans,” Frank wisely declared. “That we heard. The Americans wish to keep the Indians from the war trail, so that they can march in here and take the land.” “We do not want the Americans in here,” spoke Skidi. “Our Spanish father warned us against them. They are poor and stingy or they would have sent a large company and an old chief to treat with us. They will get no help from the Pawnee, and they must go back.” The American chief and his medicine-man stayed a long time in the Charakterik lodge. After a while Scar Head’s older brother came looking for him. “White Wolf says that you are to go on with the two Americans up to their camp and take a pony load of corn.” “How soon?” “Now. They are leaving. The pony is being packed.” So Scar Head hastened to the lodge. The two Americans were bidding Chief Charakterik goodby, and were about to mount their horses. The chief beckoned to Scar Head and pointed to the pony. Scar Head obediently scrambled atop the corn. “Do I come back to-night?” he asked. “You may stay till morning, and see what you can see. Do not talk; and be sure and bring back the pony.” This was quite an adventure――to ride to the American camp with the head chief and the medicine-man, and maybe spend the night there. Scar Head’s heart beat rapidly, but he did not show that he was either frightened or delighted, for he was Indian, and son of White Wolf. He guided his loaded pony in the rear of the two trotting horsemen. Outside the town Chief Mungo-Meri Pike reined in and dropped back beside him, with a smile. They eyed each other, although Scar Head did not smile. He was not ready to smile, and White Wolf had told him not to talk. The American chief had a clear pink and brown skin and a bright blue eye, with rather large nose and mouth, and stubborn chin. His manner was quick and commanding; anybody might see that he was a chief. “What is your name?” he asked, suddenly, in French. “Scar Head,” answered Scar Head, in Pawnee.