"Don't know."
"Do you speak English?"
"No."
"How old are you?"
Scar Head held up the fingers of his two hands; that was as nearly as he could guess. It didn't matter, anyway.
The American chief hailed the medicine-man in the American language. Scar Head did not understand, but the words were: "Doctor, I don't believe this is an Indian boy at all."
Now the medicine-man (he was a young man, with brown hair on his face) reined back to ride upon Scar Head's other side. He spoke, in French.
"Are you an Indian?"
"Yes."
"What nation?"
"Pawnee."
"Where did the Pawnee get you?"
"From Utahs."
"Chief Charakterik is not your father, then?"
"Yes. My father."
"Your mother a Utah?"
"Don't know."
"How long has Charakterik been your father?" The medicine-man was smart.
"Two year."
