hfully, scornfully, sternly rebuked
them for their unmanly and barbarous treatment of a defenseless man and
a captive.

In the course of his experience as trader and agent among the Indians,
Captain Reynolds had picked up quite a smattering of several Indian
tongues, which now enabled him to understand perfectly what the chief
was saying. Even had he not been possessed of this knowledge, he could
have readily followed the drift of the speaker's words by noting his
gestures, looks, and the tones of his voice, so distinct and forcible
were they, and so pointed with meaning.

The appearance of this man was prepossessing in the highest degree,
displaying as it did every requisite of mind and body that can ennoble
and dignify manly beauty. He stood at the summit of his prime, his form
erect and symmetrical, though somewhat stouter than is usually to be
found in men of his race. His bearing was graceful, lofty, and
commanding; his eye eagle-like in its unflinching brightness; his face,
in its European regularity of feature and clearness of outline,
eminently handsome, showing in its lines the energy and intelligence of
a great mind, true to itself and to the best impulses of human nature.
He was dressed in the peculiar and picturesque costume of his people,
made magnificent by fineness of material and the richness of decoration.
Besides the usual Indian weapons, all of polished steel and
silver-mounted, he wore a handsomely hilted English broad-sword, though
less as an ornament than as a badge of rank, or mark of distinction.

Word having reached him that Black Thunder and his party had fallen
behind the line of march, and to what bloody-minded intent their whoops
and yells, heard in that direction, plainly enough attested, the chief,
prompt to the call of humanity, had galloped back, as just described, to
arrest and rebuke a proceeding so inhuman and so unwarrior-like. His
rebuke ended, he turned to take a look at the prisoner whom he had
rescued from the flames, but of whom he had as yet seen nothing, the
smoke at the moment of his coming up still hovering heavily over the
death-pile.

The Big Black Brave with a Bushy Head still stood bound to the tree, yet
without the mark or even the smell of fire upon his person, excepting a
slight singeing of his fleecy locks and bear-skin cap, not to mention a
smart watering at the eyes, the effect of the smoke. Ah--smoke! I find
that I have unwittingly made an important omission,