“You talk big,” sneered Skidi. “Once you were a chief’s son; now you are nothing. When I catch you, some day, you will be less than nothing.” “Why don’t you catch me now?” Scar Head retorted. “I am with the Americans. I am not afraid of you.” “You are not worth the trouble. We are hunting meat. The Padoucah can have you and those Osages. They and the Spanish will eat you all, for us, and save us the bother. If we did not believe that, we would never have let the Americans come even this far.” It appeared to be true that the Pawnees were hunting, and not bent upon war. Iskatappe had brought Chief Pike a present of bear meat, to wipe out the memory of the horse-theft, he said. But the Americans stood ready, trying to see what the Pawnees really were up to――and Scar Head kept his eye upon the crafty Skidi. Pretty soon Chief Pike and Iskatappe shook hands again. The Pawnees were to ride one way, the Americans another. Scar Head was just in time. As the Americans started, he brushed against the medicine-man, so as to warn, with his French words: “Knife. No knife.” The medicine-man instantly felt of the knife scabbard on his saddle. It was empty, as Scar Head well knew, for he had seen the clever Skidi steal the knife out. Now the “doctor” exclaimed, and spoke quickly to Chief Pike. They both reined aside, so did Baroney the interpreter―― “Come,” beckoned the medicine-man, to Scar Head; and while the column went on with the second chief, they turned back to the Pawnees. “We have come for a knife that is lost,” announced Chief Pike, to Iskatappe, with Baroney talking for him in bad Pawnee. “We know nothing about any knife,” asserted Rich Man, stiffly. “A knife is missing from this man’s saddle,” Chief Pike insisted. “I ask you to get it for me.” “You grow angry about a very small thing,” Iskatappe replied. “What is one knife to you? Besides, you say it is lost. Very well; then you should find it. We know nothing about it.” Chief Pike flushed, angry indeed. His blue eyes looked hot. “Whether or not it is a small thing, we Americans are not men who can be robbed. The knife may seem of little value, but it is ours. I am here to get it from you.” “That is strong talk,” Iskatappe answered. “I have no knife of yours. Where is your knife?” “Who has it?” the medicine-man asked, in quick low voice, of Scar Head. “Skidi,” whispered Scar Head. The medicine-man pushed forward to Baroney, and spoke with him. “This man says your warrior named Skidi has his knife,” said Baroney, to Iskatappe. “We will see,” replied Iskatappe. He called Skidi, and told him to throw back his robe; and sure enough, there was the knife. “I did not know that it was that man’s knife,” Skidi defended. “I found it on the trail. Now it is mine. If I give it up, I must have another to take its place.” “Your warrior lies,” Chief Pike flatly retorted, to Iskatappe. “He stole the knife. Otherwise, how did we know that he had it?”