CHAPTER XVII.

A FOE’S GRATITUDE.

When the chief of the Sioux band entered the hills, and came to the spot where Buffalo Bill still lay insensible, he glanced into the upturned face and then at the long hair, and said, quickly, in his native tongue:

“It is Pa-e-has-ka, the white brave; my warriors have done well not to touch his scalp or kill him, for he served me long moons ago.”

Bending over the scout, who showed signs of returning consciousness, he quickly stripped the sleeve from his arm and skillfully checked the bleeding of the wound. Then he dashed water in the scout’s face, and the eyes of Buffalo Bill, opening, met the savage countenance above him. But he showed no sign of fear, and simply said in the Sioux tongue:

“Rain-in-the-face, is it you?”

“It is the Sioux chief, whose son’s life you once saved near Fort Laramie; the chief has not forgotten Long Hair.”

“Do you intend to kill me?” asked the scout.

“Is the heart of Rain-in-the-face so bad that he would kill one who saved his son from death?”

“The chief has a good heart to remember; but I am sick and weak, for I cannot rise.”

“My warriors shall aid you.”

“They ought to, for I see they have stolen everything I had,” muttered the scout, and he glanced at the dignified thieves as they stood looking at him, evidently regretting that they had not killed him.

The chief saw his look. Recognizing that a raid had been made upon the scout’s personal effects, he ordered every article to be restored at once, which order was only partially obeyed.

“The very things I can get along without they give back; what I want they keep, chief,” said Buffalo Bill boldly.

Rain-in-the-face turned boldly upon the offending braves. One put down the knife of the scout, another a revolver. At an angry motion from their chief, the other weapons were produced, while one young buck brought forward a dilapidated army saddle, and still another a United States cavalry bridle the worse for wear.

“Do my warriors wish my heart to fill with anger against them?” sternly asked the old chief.

The delinquents then brought forward the bridle, saddle, and trappings, while another came innocently to the front leading a horse that was a fair picture of what Midnight might become after a month’s starving and hard riding.

“That is not my horse, chief.”

“Yes,” said the red pretender; “this Pa-e-has-ka horse.”

“You are a red liar. If Midnight looked like that the buzzards would follow him, and his backbone would cut through the saddle and split me up the back,” said Buffalo Bill.

Seeing that he could not fool the scout, ill as he was, the buck answered:

“It gooder horse than your horse.”

“You are a howling liar. Chief, I want my horse, not that skeleton.”

Afraid of his chief, the buck now brought Midnight.

Rain-in-the-face saddled and bridled him for the scout, and placed him in the saddle, at the same time motioning to a young, light brave to mount behind him, and hold him on, for Buffalo Bill was too weak from loss of blood to keep his seat unaided.

Then up into the hills the party went, and, after a ride of thirty miles, with frequent stops on account of the scout, the Indians arrived in their camp.

There the chief carried his paleface friend to his own tepee, and ordered his squaw to do all she could for his comfort, while he went to bring the medicine man of the tribe.

The wound, the loss of blood, and the long ride to the Indian camp, brought on fever and delirium, and for weeks Buffalo Bill lay at the point of death.

All this time he was nursed tenderly by the Indians, in whose hearts, as soon as they knew how he had befriended their chief’s son in the past, arose pity for him, while they had already felt admiration for his courage.

The strong constitution of the scout carried him safely through, and he arose from his bed of skins in an Indian tepee, restored to health once more, and with his wound almost well, under the treatment of the medicine chief, who was certainly skilled in the healing of injuries from firearms and knives.

As soon as he was able to ride, Buffalo Bill thanked the chief for his kindness to him, and presented him with one of his revolvers and a watch, and let him into the secret of winding it up--it was a stem-winder--and taught him how to tell time, adding:

“There’ll be no excuse for you now to be behind time in going into a fight, if you’ll only keep her wound up.”

Throwing his red silk handkerchief to Mrs. Rain-in-the-face, who had nursed him, Buffalo Bill mounted Midnight, and, with a shout of farewell to the redskins, struck off at a lively gait.

His faithful horse had had a long rest, and was better than ever before, as he evinced by his determination to cast the miles behind him and reach the settlements.

“That’s right, Midnight; go ahead lively.”