In his wampum belt were stuck a brace of knives and a tomahawk.
It seemed he knew me, for as I approached he stood up to his full height and put his hands on his forehead.

"Brother," he said, and his grave eyes looked steadily into mine.
Then I remembered.

Some months before I had been riding back the road from Green Springs, and in a dark, woody place had come across an Indian sore beset by three of the white scum which infested the river-side.

What the quarrel was I know not, but I liked little the villainous look of the three, and I liked much the clean, lithe figure of their opponent.

So I rode my horse among them, and laid on to them with the butt of my whip.