eye, that seemed the result of
mingled drunkenness and insanity, the old chief stalked and limped up to
the prisoner, looking as if bent upon his instant destruction. That his
passions were up in arms, that he was ripe for mischief and blood, was,
indeed, plain and undeniable; but he soon made it apparent that his rage
was only conditional and alternative, as regarded the prisoner. Pausing
within three or four feet of him, and giving him a look that seemed
designed to freeze his blood, it was so desperately hostile and savage,
he extended his arm and hatchet,--not, however, to strike, as it
appeared, but to do what might be judged almost equally agreeable to
nine-tenths of his race,--that is, to deliver a speech.

"I am Wenonga!" he cried, in his own tongue, being perhaps too much
enraged to think of any other, "I am Wenonga, a great Shawnee chief. I
have fought the Longknives, and drunk their blood: when they hear my
voice they are afraid; they run howling away, like dogs when the squaws
beat them from the fire--who ever stood before Wenonga? I have fought
my enemies, and killed them. I never feared a white man: why should I
fear a white man's devil? Where is the Jibbenainosay, the curse of my
tribe?--the Shawneewannaween, the howl of my people? He kills them in the
dark, he creeps upon them while they sleep; but he fears to stand before
the face of a warrior! Am I a dog? or a woman? The squaws and the
children curse me, as I go by: they say _I_ am the killer of their
husbands and fathers; they tell me it was the deed of Wenonga, that
brought the white man's devil to kill them; 'if Wenonga is a chief, let
him kill the killer of his people!' I am Wenonga; I am a man; I fear
nothing: I have sought the Jibbenainosay. But the Jibbenainosay is a
coward; he walks in the dark, he kills in the time of sleep, he fears to
fight a warrior! My brother is a great medicine-man; he is a white man,
and he knows how to find the white man's devils. Let my brother speak for
me; let him show me where to find the Jibbenainosay; and he shall be a
great chief, and the son of a chief: Wenonga will make him his son, and
he shall be a Shawnee!"

"Does Wenonga, at last, feel he has brought a devil upon his people?"
said Nathan, speaking for the first time since his capture, and speaking
in a way well suited to strike the interrogator with surprise. A sneer,
as it seemed, of gratified malice crept over his face, and was visible
even through the