their heads, that their enemies shall not know where to find their
scalps? Go; a Pawnee warrior will never come among such Sioux squaws for
a wife!"

A frightful gleam of ferocity broke out of the restraint of the
Dahcotah's countenance, as he listened to this biting insult; but he was
quick in subduing the tell-tale feeling, in an expression much better
suited to his present purpose.

"This is the way a young chief should talk of war," he answered with
singular composure; "but Mahtoree has seen the misery of more winters
than his brother. When the nights have been long, and darkness has been
in his lodge, while the young men slept, he has thought of the hardships
of his people. He has said to himself, Teton, count the scalps in your
smoke. They are all red but two! Does the wolf destroy the wolf, or the
rattler strike his brother? You know they do not; therefore, Teton, are
you wrong to go on a path that leads to the village of a Red-skin, with
a tomahawk in your hand."

"The Sioux would rob the warrior of his fame? He would say to his
young men, Go, dig roots in the prairies, and find holes to bury your
tomahawks in; you are no longer braves!"

"If the tongue of Mahtoree ever says thus," returned the crafty chief,
with an appearance of strong indignation, "let his women cut it out, and
burn it with the offals of the buffaloe. No," he added, advancing a
few feet nigher to the immovable Hard-Heart, as if in the sincerity of
confidence; "the Red-man can never want an enemy: they are plentier than
the leaves on the trees, the birds in the heavens, or the buffaloes on
the prairies. Let my brother open his eyes wide: does he no where see an
enemy he would strike?"

"How long is it since the Teton counted the scalps of his warriors, that
were drying in the smoke of a Pawnee lodge? The hand that took them is
here, and ready to make eighteen, twenty."

"Now, let not the mind of my brother go on a crooked path. If a Red-skin
strikes a Red-skin for ever, who will be masters of the prairies, when
no warriors are left to say, 'They are mine?' Hear the voices of the old
men. They tell us that in their days many Indians have come out of the
woods under the rising sun, and that they have filled the prairies with
their complaints of the robberies of the Long-knives. Where a Pale-face
comes, a Red-man cannot stay. The land is too small. They are always
hungry. See, they are here already!"

As the Teton spoke, he pointed toward