ases like crumpled parchment. The low
forehead so deeply furrowed. The small eyes so offensive in their
inflamed condition. The almost toothless jaws which the lips refused
to cover. It was a hateful presence with nothing of the noble red man
about it. It was with relief he turned to the younger examples of what
this man had once been.

But the chief was talking in that staccato, querulous fashion of old
age, and his white audience was waiting for the interpreter.

It was a long time before the result came. When it did it was in the
scantiest of pigeon English.

"Him much pleased with white man coming," said the interpreter with
visible effort at cordiality. "The great Chief Thunder-Cloud much good
friend to white man. Much good friend. Him say young men fierce--very
fierce. They fish plenty. They say white man come--no fish. White
man come, Indian man mak' much hungry. No fish. White man eat 'em all
up. Young man mak' much talk--very fierce. Young man say white man
burn up land. Indians no hunt. So. Indian man starve. Indian come.
Young men kill 'em all up dead. Or Indian man starve. So. White man
come, Indian man starve, too. White man go, Indian man eat plenty.
White man go?"

The solemn eyes of the Indians were watching the white man's face with
expressionless intensity. They were striving to read where their
language failed them. Kars gave no sign. His eyes were steadily
regarding the wreck of humanity described as a "great chief."

"White man burn the land because neche try to kill white man," he said
after a moment's consideration, in level, unemotional tones. "White
man come in peace. He want no fish. He want no hunt. He want only
gold--and peace. White man not go. White man stay. If Indian kill,
white man kill, too. White man kill up all Indian, if Indian kill
white man. Louis Creal sit by his teepee. He say white man come Louis
Creal not get gold. He say to Indian go kill up white man. White man
great friends with Indian. He good friend with Louis Creal, if Louis
Creal lies low. Indian man very fierce. White man very fierce, too.
If great Chief Thunder-Cloud not hold young men, then he soon find out.
Louis Creal, too. Much war come. Much blood. White man make most
killing. So."

He waited while his reply was passed on to the decrepit creature, who,
for all his age and physical disability, was complete master of his
emotions. Thunder-Cloud listened and gave