ard, he must
speak with a white tongue."

Mahtoree pondered deeply, and in a wonder that he did not attempt to
conceal. It was reversing all the order of society, and, according to
his established opinions, endangering the dignity of a chief, for a
warrior thus to humble himself before a woman. But as Inez sat before
him, reserved and imposing in air, utterly unconscious of his object,
and least of all suspecting the true purport of so extraordinary
a visit, the savage felt the influence of a manner to which he was
unaccustomed. Bowing his head, in acknowledgment of his error, he
stepped a little back, and placing himself in an attitude of easy
dignity, he began to speak with the confidence of one who had been no
less distinguished for eloquence, than for deeds in arms. Keeping his
eyes riveted on the unconscious bride of Middleton, he proceeded in the
following words--

"I am a man with a red skin, but my eyes are dark. They have been open
since many snows. They have seen many things--they know a brave from a
coward. When a boy, I saw nothing but the bison and the deer. I went to
the hunts, and I saw the cougar and the bear. This made Mahtoree a man.
He talked with his mother no more. His ears were open to the wisdom of
the old men. They told him every thing--they told him of the Big-knives.
He went on the war-path. He was then the last; now, he is the first.
What Dahcotah dare say he will go before Mahtoree into the hunting
grounds of the Pawnees? The chiefs met him at their doors, and they
said, My son is without a home. They gave him their lodges, they gave
him their riches, and they gave him their daughters. Then Mahtoree
became a chief, as his fathers had been. He struck the warriors of
all the nations, and he could have chosen wives from the Pawnees, the
Omawhaws, and the Konzas; but he looked at the hunting grounds, and not
at his village. He thought a horse was pleasanter than a Dahcotah girl.
But he found a flower on the prairies, and he plucked it, and brought it
into his lodge. He forgets that he is the master of a single horse. He
gives them all to the stranger, for Mahtoree is not a thief; he will
only keep the flower he found on the prairie. Her feet are very tender.
She cannot walk to the door of her father; she will stay, in the lodge
of a valiant warrior for ever."

When he had finished this extraordinary address, the Teton awaited to
have it translated, with the air of a suitor who entertained no v