leave our
cabins to tell him he is welcome--but while I shake hands with my white
brother," he said, pointing to his forehead, "my white brother shoots me
through the head--my best chief--three of my young men, a squaw and his[6]
child. We come from our huts unarmed--even without our blankets--and yet,
while I shake hands with my white brother, he shoots me down--my best
chief. My young men within, hear me shot--they rush out--they fire on my
white brother--he falls, four--my people fly to the woods without their
rifles." He then stated that four more Indians died in the forest of cold
and starvation, fearing to return to their villages, and being without
either blankets or guns. At length returning, and finding that their
"great chiefs" had delivered themselves up, he came to stand his trial.

The next person called was an old chief, named "Pumpkin," who corroborated
the testimony of "Big-Neck," but had not been with the party when the
Sauks were seen killing the cattle. When he came to that part of the story
where the Indian comes from his wig-wam to meet the white man, he said,
nearly in the same words used by Big-neck, "While I shake hands with my
white brother, my white brother shoots me down--my best chief"--he here
paused, and lifting his eyes above the heads of the auditors, his lip
curling a little, but resuming again, almost immediately, its natural
position, he pronounced in a low but distinct guttural tone, the Indian
word meaning "_my_ son." His eye seemed fixed for a few seconds, and then,
as if conscious of his weakness, and that the eyes of the great warriors
of his tribe were upon him, he looked slowly round in a kind of solemn
triumph, and resumed his tale. There was a strong feeling excited in the
court by the misfortune of this old man, for the "best chief" of the
Ioways was his _only_ son. The court asked the chiefs what they thought
should be done in the matter? They spoke a few words to each other, and
then answered promptly, that all they required was, that their white
brother should be brought down also, and confronted with them. The
prisoners were set at liberty on their parole.

Nothing could have been more respectable than the silence and gravity of
the Indians during the investigation. The hostages particularly, were
really imposing in their appearance; an air of solemnity overspread their
manly countenances, whilst their eyes bespoke that unquailing spirit which
the habits and vicissitudes