Sioux--the cruel, grim-faced warrior, Sitting Bull; shrunk back, and
laid his hand upon the butt of a revolver.

"Ha!" he articulated, "is that you, chief? You, and at such work as
this?" there was stern reproach in the youth's tone, and certain it is
that the Sioux warrior heard the words spoken.

"My friend, Scarlet Boy, is keen with the tongue," he said, frowning.
"Let him put shackles upon it, before it leaps over the bounds of
reason."

"I see no reason why I should not speak in behalf of yon suffering
girl!" retorted the youth, fearlessly, "on whom you have been
inflicting one of the most inhuman tortures Indian cunning could
conceive. For shame, chief, that you should ever assent to such an
act--lower yourself to the grade of a dog by such a dastard deed. For
shame, I say!"

Instantly the form of the great warrior straightened up like an arrow,
and his painted hand flew toward the pistols in his belt.

But the succeeding second he seemed to change his intention; his hand
went out toward the youth in greeting:

"The Scarlet Boy is right," he said, with as much graveness as a
red-skin can conceive. "Sitting Bull listens to his words as he would
to those of a brother. Scarlet Boy is no stranger in the land of the
Sioux; he is the friend of the great chief and his warriors. Once when
the storm-gods were at war over the pine forests and picture rocks of
the Hills; when the Great Spirit was sending fiery messengers down in