A sudden impulse, mingled of admiration, gratitude and pity, seized Al toward this strange savage, so proud and yet so humble; so cold and yet so generous. He stepped forward and held out his hand. "Will you not come in with us, Te-o-kun-ko?" he asked, "and make your peace with the Great Father? Why fight any longer? Can you not see that it is hopeless; that the red men can never prevail against the power and the numbers of the whites?" The chief ignored the friendly, outstretched hand, but he looked at Al frankly, even though defiantly. "No, Al Briscoe," he made answer, firmly. "You and I are enemies. And while my people have strength left to fight the white men, we will be enemies. I know that what you say is true, though many of my people will not yet believe it. The whites will conquer in the end and take from us the last of this, our great, free, beautiful land to which they have no right except the right of being strong enough. But at least the Indian can fight to the end and die as a warrior should, with his face toward his foes, while his soul goes up in the battle smoke to the Happy Hunting Grounds of Wakon Tonka (the Great Spirit). No, Al Briscoe, I have no friend among the white men save only Pah-ta-ustah, your brother. Go quickly, for when you are on the prairie once more, I shall hold back my braves no longer, and you will be killed if you delay or come back. Go!" "Come on," said Al in a low tone to his companions. They turned and walked rapidly along the base of the butte toward the narrow valley west of it. As they passed its farther side, Al looked back. Te-o-kun-ko still stood as they had left him, a shadowy figure in the gathering dusk, regarding them with haughty attention, his rifle across his left arm. Only now his right hand was raised in a restraining gesture against his followers, who were crowding up behind him, cocking their guns and cursing in tones which grew rapidly louder and more threatening as they looked after their escaping victims. Passing behind an angle of rock, Al exclaimed, "Run! He can't hold them much longer!" The three dashed across the narrow valley at top speed and almost as rapidly scrambled up the steep slope to the prairie, where they encountered the two cavalrymen, pale and excited. "Good God, where have you been?" ejaculated one of the soldiers. "We thought you were killed or captured. There hasn't been a shot for twenty minutes." "No, but there will be in about twenty seconds," Al responded. "Come, come! Keep running." Away they went toward the camp, hastened by a chorus of fierce war whoops from the valley and then by the patter of shots as a number of Te-o-kun-ko's warriors came over the edge of the prairie a hundred yards behind and raced after them. The bullets, however, sang harmlessly by and in a moment half a hundred of their own men, hearing the firing, came running to their rescue; whereupon the Sioux gave up the chase and fell back into the Bad Lands as night descended.