brave men."

Then Crawling Elk rose, and his broad, good-humored face shone in the
sun like polished bronze as he turned his cheek to the wind.

"The words of my brother are loud and quick," he said, slowly. "In the
ancient time it was always so. He was always ready to fight. I was
always opposed to fighting. We must not talk of fighting now; all that
is put away. It belongs to the suns that have gone over our heads. We
must now talk of cattle-herding and ploughing. We must strive always to
be at peace with the cowboys. I, too, am old. I have not many years to
live; but you young men have a long time to live, and you cannot be
always quarrelling with the settlers; you must be wise and patient. Our
Little Father, Swift Eagle, is our friend; you can trust him. You can
put your hand in his and find it strong and warm. His heart is good and
his words are wise. If we can find the man who did this evil deed, we
must give him up. It is not right that all of us should suffer for the
wickedness of one man. No, it is not right that we who are old should
die for one whose hands are red."

This speech was also received in silence, but plainly produced a
powerful effect. Then one of the men who found the body rose and told
what he knew of the case. "I do not think a Tetong killed the man," he
said, in conclusion.

In this wise the talk proceeded for nearly two hours, and then the
council rose to meet again at sunset, and word of what had been said was
carried to Curtis by Crawling Elk and Grayman.

To them Curtis said: "I am pleased with you. Go over the names of all
your reckless young men, and when you reach one you think might do such
a deed, question him and his people closely. The shells of the rifle
were the largest size--that may help you. Your old men would not do this
thing--their heads are cool; but some of your young men have hot hearts
and may have quarrelled with this herder."

The old men went away very sorrowful. Grayman was especially troubled,
because he could not help thinking all the time of Cut Finger, his
nephew.

Running Fox, or "Cut Finger," as the white people called him, he knew to
be a morose and reckless young man, and probably possessed of some evil
spirit, for at times he was quite crazy. Once he had forced his pony
into the cooking-lodge of Bear Paw for no reason at all, and Bear Paw,
in a rage, had snatched up his rifle and fired, putting a bullet through
the bridle hand of Running Fox, who lo