Matters looked bad. The Pawnees were surrounding thicker and thicker, and the other Americans had gone on. But Chief Pike gave no sign that he was afraid; neither did the medicine-man. Only Baroney acted uneasy, and Scar Head’s heart beat rapidly. “What the American chief says, sounds true,” remarked Iskatappe, while Skidi glared and his friends jostled and murmured. “But maybe Skidi is right, too. He should have another knife.” “We are not here to trade knives. When an honest man finds what belongs to another, he returns it,” Chief Pike replied. “Much time is being wasted over a matter of no account,” growled Iskatappe. “Here is your knife,” and he plucked it from Skidi’s waist. “I am not stingy, so I give him one to take its place.” And so he did. Chief Pike passed the knife to the medicine-man. The medicine-man was wise. He immediately passed it back to Iskatappe. “It is now yours. Keep it. By this you see that we did not come for the knife; we came for justice.” “You show us that your hearts are good, after all,” Rich Man granted. “I think you have done well.” The faces of the Pawnees cleared, even Skidi seemed satisfied, and after shaking hands once more Chief Pike led out for the column and left the Pawnees to go their way also. The Americans under the second chief were a long way ahead. Chief Pike acted as if in no hurry. He and the medicine-man cantered easily and chatted and laughed like brothers; Scar Head and Baroney cantered together, behind them. “Our scalps were loose, back there,” uttered Baroney. “Yes,” said Scar Head. “I smelled blood.” “You are no Pawnee. They would scalp you, too. Were you afraid?” “No. No one is afraid, with Chief Pike.” Baroney laughed. He was a small, dark, black-bearded man who spoke about as much Pawnee as Scar Head spoke French, but was good at the sign language; so by using all three means, with now and then a word of Spanish, he got along. They had ridden about a mile, and were slowly overtaking the American column, when another band of figures came charging. The medicine-man sighted them, the first, for he pointed――and they indeed looked, at a distance, to be more Indians, issuing from ambush in a river bottom on the left and launching themselves to cut off the Chief Pike squad. Scar Head himself read them with one keen stare. “Elk,” he grunted, in Pawnee, and stiffened with the hunt feeling. Baroney called, excitedly; but Chief Pike had read, too. He shouted, turned his horse and shook his reins and flourished his gun, and away he dashed, to meet the elk. In a flash Scar Head clapped his heels against his pony’s ribs, and tore after. The medicine-man and Baroney tore, too, on a course of their own.