proffered symbol of
peace and friendship, and with a solemnity that would have seemed
ludicrous to any one but a black man or a red man, gave just as many
whiffs as he had seen Kumshakah give, then, with the air of one who knew
as well as anybody what he was doing, returned the pipe to Kumshakah.

The peace-pipe emptied of its ashes and returned to its owner, the young
brave rose at once and silently extended his hand. Burl seized it with a
huge, devouring grip that would have made any one but an Indian wince,
and with a big, round, stag-like tear in either big, round, ox-like eye,
thus bid farewell: "Good-by, Kumshy. De good Lord go wid you all yo'
days. Come an' see us ag'in--Miss Jemimy an' Mishy-muggy an'
Sheky-depatty; Mishy-muggy's me, you know, an' Sheky-depatty's Bushie.
Come an' see us all ag'in. Good-by."

Then going up to Bushie, Kumshakah shook him, likewise, by the hand; the
dear little fellow, without saying a word, gazing up wistfully into the
young Indian's face, his blue eyes brimming over with tears. But when he
saw his red friend going at last, then did the affectionate
Shekee-thepatee lift up his voice and weep aloud.

"Come back, Kumshakah!" he cried; "come back, and live with us, and
never leave us, Kumshakah!"

The young Indian wheeled about and returned, took the chubby hand again
in his, and with tender gravity shook it gently, very gently. As he did
so, a mistiness came over his bright, wild eyes, which, when he had
turned again to go, must--if ever Indian warrior weeps--have gathered
into a tear. With wistful eyes, Burl and Bushie followed the swiftly
receding form of their red friend, who never turned to look at them till
he had gained the crest of a distant hill to the north. Here he faced
about and remained for many moments gazing back at them; his graceful
figure, his wild dress, and his rifle in sharp relief against a patch of
blue sky, gleaming through an opening in the forest beyond. In final
farewell Burl waved his cap. Kumshakah answered with a wide wave of the
hand; then, turning, quickly vanished behind the hill, to be seen no
more. With sorrowful hearts, Burl and Bushie turned likewise, and
retraced their steps to Fort Reynolds.

From that day forward, never again did Captain Reynolds, the Fighting
Nigger, the Big Black Brave with a Bushy Head, Mish-mugwa, lay the
bloody hand on the scalp-lock of a fallen foe.

Chapter XVII.

HOW THE GLORY OF HIS RACE FIGURED IN HIS