An' he's hot an' cold because he's fearful that in this battle of the bows the Lance'll down Black Cloud an' cheat him, the Bob-cat, of his own revenge.

The chance is too much; the Bob-cat can't stand it an' resolves to get his stack down first.

An' so it happens that as Black Cloud an' the Lance, painted in their war colours, is walkin' to their places, a nine-inch knife flickers like a gleam of light from the hand of the Bob-cat, an' merely to show that he ain't called the 'Knife Thrower' for fun, catches Black Cloud flush in the throat, an' goes through an' up to the gyard at the knife-haft.
Black Cloud dies standin', for the knife p'int bites his spine.
"No, son, no one gets arrested; Injuns don't have jails, for the mighty excellent reason that no Injun culprit ever vamoses an' runs away.
Injun crim'nals, that a-way, allers stands their hands an' takes their hemlock.

The Osages, who for Injuns is some shocked at the Bob-cat's interruption of the dooel--it bein' mighty onparliamentary from their standp'ints--tries the Bob-cat in their triboonals for killin' Black Cloud an' he's decided on as guilty accordin' to their law.

They app'ints a day for the Bob-cat to be shot; an' as he ain't present at the trial none, leavin' his end of the game to be looked after by his reelatives, they orders a kettle-tender or tribe crier to notify the Bob-cat when an' where he's to come an' have said sentence execooted upon him.