With the fire blazing between them, Highpockets knew that he faced Painted Elk. The gravity of worlds radiated from each tall figure. Each measured the other's grim dignity. Each was sovereign in his own place, and they faced each other as kings might meet. "We should have been friends, you and I," Painted Elk sighed. Without another word, Painted Elk suddenly raised his arms, reaching forward above the small fire toward Highpockets. Immediately, the white man grasped the forearms of the law giver. Painted Elk turned sharply left and left the tent. Tomorrow, Highpockets would face the council and learn his fate.
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