ile his huge frame
trembled like a mighty pine beneath the thunderbolt.

"No," he said at last. "I shall go, but you must remain. You are a
woman, and the white people need not know that your little boys are
mine. Bring them here to me this evening that I may kiss them farewell."

The sun was hovering among the treetops when they met again.

"Atay! atay!" ("Papa, papa!") the little fellows cried out in spite of
her cautions; but the mother put her finger to her lips, and they became
silent. Tawasuota took each boy in his arms, and held him close for a
few moments; he smiled to them, but large tears rolled down his cheeks.
Then he disappeared in the shadows, and they never saw him again.

The chief soldier lived and died a warrior and an enemy to the white
man; but one of his two sons became in after-years a minister of the
Christian gospel, under the "Long-Haired Praying Man," Bishop Whipple,
of Minnesota.

VI. THE WHITE MAN'S ERRAND

Upon the wide tableland that lies at the back of a certain Indian
agency, a camp of a thousand teepees was pitched in a circle, according
to the ancient usage. In the center of the circle stood the council
lodge, where there were gathered together of an afternoon all the men
of years and distinction, some in blankets, some in uniform, and still
others clad in beggarly white man's clothing. But the minds of all were
alike upon the days of their youth and freedom.

Around the council fire they passed and repassed the pipe of peace, and
when the big drum was struck they sang the accompaniment with sad yet
pleasant thoughts of the life that is past. Between the songs stories of
brave deeds and dangerous exploits were related by the actors in turn,
with as much spirit and zest as if they were still living in those days.

"Tum, tum, tum," the drum was sounded.

"Oow, oow!" they hooted in a joyous chorus at the close of each refrain.

"Ho!" exclaimed finally the master of ceremonies for the evening. "It is
Zuyamani's story of his great ride that we should now hear! It was
not far from this place, upon the Missouri River, and within the
recollection of many of us that this occurred. Ye young men must hear!"

"Ho, ho!" was the ready response of all present, and the drum was struck
once according to custom. The pipe was filled and handed to Zuyamani,
who gravely smoked for a few moments in silence. Then he related his
contribution to the unwritten history of our frontier in these wo