States as
"Tamahay's father."

The following story is told of him in his later days. He attempted one
day to cross the first bridge over the Mississippi River, but was not
recognized by the sentinel, who would not allow him to pass until he
paid the toll. Tamahay, who was a privileged character, explained as
best he could, with gestures and broken English, that he was always
permitted to pass free; but as the sentinel still refused, and even
threatened him with his bayonet, the old Indian silently seized the
musket, threw it down into the waters of the Mississippi and went home.
Later in the day a company of soldiers appeared in the Indian village,
and escorted our hero to a sort of court-martial at the fort. When
he was questioned by the Colonel, he simply replied: "If you were
threatened by any one with a weapon, you would, in self-defense, either
disable the man or get rid of the weapon. I did the latter, thinking
that you would need the man more than the gun."

Finally the officer said to them, "I see you are both partly wrong. Some
one must be responsible for the loss of the gun; therefore, you two
will wrestle, and the man who is downed must dive for the weapon to the
bottom of the river."

Scarcely was this speech ended when Tamahay was upon the soldier, who
was surprised both by the order and by the unexpected readiness of the
wily old Indian, so that he was not prepared, and the Sioux had the
vantage hold. In a moment the bluecoat was down, amid shouts and peals
of laughter from his comrades. Having thrown his man, the other turned
and went home without a word.

Sad to say, he acquired a great appetite for "minne-wakan", or
"mysterious water", as the Sioux call it, which proved a source of
trouble to him in his old age. It is told of him that he was treated
one winter's day to a drink of whisky in a trader's store. He afterwards
went home; but even the severe blizzard which soon arose did not prevent
him from returning in the night to the friendly trader. He awoke that
worthy from sleep about twelve o'clock by singing his death dirge upon
the roof of the log cabin. In another moment he had jumped down the mud
chimney, and into the blazing embers of a fire. The trader had to pour
out to him some whisky in a tin pail, after which he begged the old
man to "be good and go home." On the eve of the so-called "Minnesota
Massacre" by the Sioux in 1862, Tamahay, although he was then very old
and had almost lost the