less asked for. The men respected him
much because he was a hard worker, obliging, and modest--three qualities
that ensure respect, whether found under a red skin or a white one.

"I shall tell you," he began, in a soft, musing tone, as if he were
wandering in memories of the past--"I shall tell you how it was that I
came by the name of Redfeather."

"Au!" interrupted Charley, "I intended to ask you about that; you don't
wear one."

"I did once. My father was a great warrior in his tribe," continued the
Indian; "and I was but a youth when I got the name.

"My tribe was at war at the time with the Chipewyans, and one of our
scouts having come in with the intelligence that a party of our enemies
was in the neighbourhood, our warriors armed themselves to go in pursuit
of them. I had been out once before with a war-party, but had not been
successful, as the enemy's scouts gave notice of our approach in time to
enable them to escape. At the time the information was brought to us,
the young men of our village were amusing themselves with athletic
games, and loud challenges were being given and accepted to wrestle, or
race, or swim in the deep water of the river, which flowed calmly past
the green bank on which our wigwams stood. On a bank near to us sat
about a dozen of our women--some employed in ornamenting moccasins with
coloured porcupine quills; others making rogans of bark for maple sugar,
or nursing their young infants; while a few, chiefly the old women,
grouped themselves together and kept up an incessant chattering, chiefly
with reference to the doings of the young men.

"Apart from these stood three or four of the principal men of our tribe,
smoking their pipes, and although apparently engrossed in conversation,
still evidently interested in what was going forward on the bank of the
river.

"Among the young men assembled there was one of about my own age, who
had taken a violent dislike to me because the most beautiful girl in all
the village preferred me before him. His name was Misconna. He was a
hot-tempered, cruel youth; and although I endeavoured as much as
possible to keep out of his way, he sought every opportunity of picking
a quarrel with me. I had just been running a race along with several
other youths, and although not the winner, I had kept ahead of Misconna
all the distance. He now stood leaning against a tree, burning with
rage and disappointment. I was sorry for this, because I bore