There were bows drawn forward over the shoulders of many young men, and arrows began to shiver on the string under their itching fingers.

Once more Franklin felt that the last moment had come, and he and Battersleigh still pressed back to the wagons where the rifles lay.
The Indian chief raised his hand and came forward, upon his face some indescribable emotion which removed it from mere savagery, some half-chivalrous impulse born perhaps of a barbaric egotism and self-confidence, perhaps of that foolhardy and vain love of risk which had made White Calf chief of his people and kept him so.

He stood silent for a moment, his arms folded across his breast with that dramatic instinct never absent from the Indian's mind.

When he spoke, the scorn and bravado in his voice were apparent, and his words were understood though his speech was broken.
"Big chief!" he said, pointing toward Juan.

"White Calf, me big chief," pointing to himself.