The coming of White Buffalo with his handful of trusted braves was an event
for Dave and Henry. This chief had been their friend for many years and
they felt that they could rely upon him, no matter how great the emergency.
In the past the tribe to which White Buffalo belonged had been split, some
fighting with the English and others with the French, but now some of the
leaders, including Skunk Tail, were dead, and, the war being at an end, all
were reunited under the leadership of White Buffalo and a young chief named
Rain Cloud. But White Buffalo could not forgive some of the men of his
tribe for taking up arms against the English and he was glad enough in
consequence to get away with his few chosen ones.

"How? How?" said the Indian, meaning "How do you do?" as he took first
Dave's hand and then Henry's and gave each a tight grip. "White Buffalo is
glad to see his young friends looking so well. The war has not harmed
them."

"No, White Buffalo, we are as well as ever," answered Dave. "And how have
you been since last we saw you?"

"White Buffalo is not so young as he once was," answered the chief. "His
step is not so light and his eye cannot see so far. Before many winters he
will be gathered to his fathers."

"Nonsense!" put in Henry. "You can shoot as straight as any of us, and I
know it, and walk just as far, too. Who told you that you couldn't?"

"The young braves at White Buffalo's village. They do not care for a chief
who is old."

"They make a big mistake, and I'd tell them so if I had the chance," went