With a single stride he was close to White Cloud.
"White Cloud," he said sternly, "you speak with a forked tongue.

In plain English, White Cloud, you lie.

Trotting Wolf, you know that is no deer.

That is cow.

That is my cow." Trotting Wolf shrugged his shoulders.
"No see cow me," he said sullenly.
"White Cloud," said Cameron, swiftly turning again upon the young Indian, "where did you shoot my cow ?" The young Indian stared back at Cameron, never blinking an eyelid.
Cameron felt his wrath rising, but kept himself well in hand, remembering the purpose of his visit.