ventions on every hillock. He felt something touch him on the
shoulder, and looked up to see a tall Indian gazing down upon him with a
look of strange pride and gravity. Wilson sprang to his feet and held
out his hand.

"Drifting Crane, how d'e do?"

The Indian bowed, but did not take the settler's hand. Drifting Crane
would have been called old if he had been a white man, and there was a
look of age in the fixed lines of his powerful, strongly modeled face,
but no suspicion of weakness in the splendid poise of his broad,
muscular body. There was a smileless gravity about his lips and eyes
which was very impressive.

"I'm glad to see you. Come in and get something to eat," said Wilson,
after a moment's pause.

The chief entered the cabin and took a seat near the door. He took a cup
of milk and some meat and bread silently, and ate while listening to the
talk of the settler.

"I don't brag on my biscuits, chief, but they _eat_, if a man is hungry
enough. An' the milk's all right. I suppose you've come to see why I
ain't moseying back over the divide?"

The chief, after a long pause, began to speak in a low, slow voice, as
if choosing his words. He spoke in broken English, of course, but his
speech was very direct and plain, and had none of those absurd figures
of rhetoric which romancers invariably put into the mouths of Indians.
His voice was almost lion-like in its depth, and yet was not unpleasant.
It was easy to see that he was a chief by virtue of his own personality.

"Cattleman, my young men brought me bad message from you. They brought
your words to me, saying he will not go away."

"That's about the way the thing stands," replied Wilson, in response to
the question that was in the old chief's steady eyes. "I'm here to stay.
This ain't your land. This is Uncle Sam's land, and part of it'll be
mine as soon as the surveyors come to measure it off."

"Who gave it away?" asked the chief. "My people were cheated out of it.
They didn't know what they were doing."

"I can't help that. That's for Congress to say. That's the business of
the Great Father at Washington." Wilson's voice changed. He knew and
liked the chief; he didn't want to offend him. "They ain't no use making
a fuss, chief. You won't gain anything."

There was a look of deep sorrow in the old man's face. At last he spoke
again: "The cattleman is welcome; but he must go, because whenever one
white man goes and calls it good, the others come. D