it, and so did Murray. The
latter, indeed, won the heart of Many Bears by saying of his son, in
the presence of the warriors standing by, "Brave young man. Stand
right up and fight. Make a great war-chief some day. I like him."

Such testimony from a man who had given proof of his own prowess, and
who was, as their keen eyes told them, himself a great warrior, did
wonders for the fame of Red Wolf. It was almost as much as if he had
taken and brought home a scalp.

"Young men go," said Many Bears. "Send Warning stay with gray heads."

Steve walked away at his new friend's side, both of them a little
puzzled what to do or say, until Steve asked a question in Mexican
Spanish.

The ice was broken. Red Wolf understood that tongue as well as Steve
did.

"You are my brother. You are not a pale-face."

Steve was not altogether ignorant of Indian manners, and of their
bitter prejudices, and he replied,

"Brother? Yes. All right. I am an Apache now. Fight for tribe.
Fight for brother."

That was precisely what he had already done, so that it was more than a
mere profession; but the reply of Red Wolf had a great deal of
frankness in it.

"Red Wolf is an Apache. His father is a great chief. He hates
pale-faces. Glad his brother has come to be an Apache. Eat with him
now. Show him foolish young squaw that ran away and got caught. Squaw
know very little."

They had walked along for some distance, and when Red Wolf said that he
was very near his own campfire. He had not intended it for any ears
but those of Steve Harrison, and his pride forbade his noticing the
ripple of laughter which immediately followed it. Not even when he
heard Ni-ha-be say, in her own dialect,

"Did you hear him, Rita? He was one of the braves who went to find the
ford. They forgot to ask the squaws where to look for it."

Steve heard the rippling laugh, but he did not understand the words.
Could they be making fun of him? His cheeks burnt red-hot at the
thought of it, for he turned his head just long enough to see that
those two pairs of bright and searching eyes were looking straight at
him. They dropped instantly, but not before they had seen the quick
flush rise to his face.

"Ni-ha-be," whispered Rita, "he will think we are rude."

"Ni-ha-be--Rita," said Red Wolf at that moment, "tell Dolores she must
cook for the Knotted Cord. The chief says so. Bring blanket. Bring
water. Be quick."

Dolores was near enough