long the road to the Indian village.

"Ho, ho! Tawasuota u ye do!" ("He is coming; he is coming!") shouted the
warriors in chorus.

The famous war-chief dismounted in silence, gun in hand, and walked
directly toward the larger store.

"Friend," he exclaimed, "we may both meet the 'Great Mystery' to-day,
but you must go first."

There was a loud report, and the unsuspecting white man lay dead. It was
James Lynd, one of the early traders, and a good friend to the Indians.

No sooner had Tawasuota fired the fatal shot than every other Indian
discharged his piece. Hither and thither ran the frantic people, seeking
safety, but seeking it in vain. They were wholly unprepared and at the
mercy of the foe.

The friendly Indians, too, were taken entirely by surprise. They had
often heard wild talk of revolt, but it had never had the indorsement of
intelligent chiefs, or of such a number as to carry any weight to their
minds. Christian Indians rushed in every direction to save, if possible,
at least the wives and children of the Government employees. Meanwhile,
the new white settlements along the Minnesota River were utterly
unconscious of any danger. Not a soul dreamed of the terrible calamity
that each passing moment was bringing nearer and nearer.

Tawasuota stepped aside, and took up his pipe. He seemed almost
oblivious of what he had done. While the massacre still raged about
him in all its awful cruelty, he sat smoking and trying to think
collectedly, but his mind was confused, and in his secret thoughts he
rebelled against Little Crow. It was a cowardly deed that he had been
ordered to commit, he thought; for he had won his reputation solely by
brave deeds in battle, and this was more like murdering one of his own
tribesmen--this killing of an unarmed white man. Up to this time the
killing of a white man was not counted the deed of a warrior; it was
murder.

The lesser braves might now satisfy their spite against the traders to
their hearts' content, but Tawasuota had been upon the best of terms
with all of them.

Suddenly a ringing shout was heard. The chief soldier looked up, and
beheld a white man, nearly nude, leap from the roof of the larger store
and alight upon the ground hard by him.

He had emptied one barrel of his gun, and, if he chose to do so, could
have killed Myrick then and there; but he made no move, exclaiming:

"Ho, ho! Nina iyaye!" ("Run, run!")

Away sped the white man in the direction of