onies to nibble at the scanty bunch
grass, the two came straight forward with extended hands and cordial
"How, colah!" on their lips, one of them adding, in agency English,
"Want talk chief. Indian poor. Heap sick." (And here he clasped his
stomach with both hands.) "Want coffee, sugar, bread."

"All right," said Bruce promptly, noting the while how the roving black
eyes searched the edge of the ravine. "Stay here. Don't come nearer. You
got buffalo meat?"

A grunt was the reply of one, a guttural "Buffalo, yes," the answer of
the other.

"Bring tongues, then," and Bruce touched his own. "Five," and he threw
forward the outspread right hand, rapidly touching in succession the
thumb and four fingers. "We give both hands full--coffee, sugar,
hardtack," and Bruce illustrated as he spoke. "That's all!" he finished
abruptly, with the well-known Indian sign that plainly tells "I have
spoken--there is nothing more to say," then calmly turned his back and,
bidding Conroy follow, started to return to his comrades at the ravine.

But Indian diplomacy was unsatisfied. The Sioux had found "Big Nose" to
be one of the soldiers in the field. He, at least, was of the hated
troop that fought and chased Burning Star and killed Chaska. The trail
told them there were nearly a dozen in the party, all on shod horses,
with two in lead-spare mounts or pack-horses, doubtless--so they had
extra rations and had come far; but why were they going this way, so far
west of the usual road to the Big Horn posts? Why were they so few in
number? Where were the rest? Why were they hiding here in the ravine,
instead of marching? Answer to this last question was easy enough. It
was to keep out of sight of Indian eyes and needed no excuse. There was
something behind this mysterious presence of ten or twelve soldiers in
the southern foothills, and Machpealota would expect of his scouts full
information, hence the instant movement on the part of one of the two
braves to follow.

Impressively, Bruce turned again and waved him back. "Go, get buffalo
tongue," said he, "or no trade. Keep away from our tepees," and he drew
with his spurred boot-heel a jagged line across the turf. "Your side,"
said he, indicating the slope to the southeast of the line. "This--ours.
That's all!" And this time the Indian knew he must come no nearer.

"I've got 'em talking trade, lieutenant," reported Bruce, the instant he
reached Dean's side. "We don't need the tongues, but we'v