The fires of emotion and imagination have not yet begun to burn.

The reactions from anything like rash action previously committed under the stimulus of a heated imagination are caution and timidity, and upon these reactions Cameron counted when he rode boldly into the Indian camp.
With one swift glance his eye swept the camp and lighted upon the Sioux Chief in the center of a group of younger men, his tall commanding figure and haughty carriage giving him an outstanding distinction over those about him.

At his side stood a young Piegan Chief, Eagle Feather by name, whom Cameron knew of old as a restless, talkative Indian, an ambitious aspirant for leadership without the qualities necessary to such a position.

Straight to this group Cameron rode.
"Good morning!" he said, saluting the group.

"Ah, good morning, Eagle Feather!" Eagle Feather grunted an indistinct reply.
"Big Hunt, eh?
Are you in command of this party, Eagle Feather?
No?
Who then is ?" The Piegan turned and pointed to a short thick set man standing by another fire, whose large well shaped head and penetrating eye indicated both force and discretion.
"Ah, Running Stream," cried Cameron.