rier note of
the fiddle. The garrison windows shone like lanterns, and behind these
Creole and backwoodsman swung the village ladies in the gay French
dances. The man at whose bidding this merrymaking was held stood in a
corner watching with folded arms, and none to look at him might know
that he was playing for a stake.

The troubled fires of the Indians had died to embers long before the
candles were snuffed in the garrison house and the music ceased.

The sun himself was pleased to hail that last morning of the great
council, and beamed with torrid tolerance upon the ceremony of kindling
the greatest of the fires. On this morning Colonel Clark did not sit
alone, but was surrounded by men of weight,--by Monsieur Gratiot and
other citizens, Captain Bowman and the Spanish officers. And when at
length the brush crackled and the flames caught the logs, three of the
mightiest chiefs arose. The greatest, victor in fifty tribal wars, held
in his hand the white belt of peace. The second bore a long-stemmed pipe
with a huge bowl. And after him, with measured steps, a third came
with a smoking censer,--the sacred fire with which to kindle the pipe.
Halting before Clark, he first swung the censer to the heavens, then to
the earth, then to all the spirits of the air,--calling these to witness
that peace was come at last,--and finally to the Chief of the Long
Knives and to the gentlemen of dignity about his person. Next the Indian
turned, and spoke to his brethren in measured, sonorous tones. He bade
them thank that Great Spirit who had cleared the sky and opened their
ears and hearts that they might receive the truth,--who had laid bare to
their understanding the lies of the English. Even as these English
had served the Big Knives, so might they one day serve the Indians.
Therefore he commanded them to cast the tomahawk into the river, and
when they should return to their land to drive the evil birds from it.
And they must send their wise men to Kaskaskia to hear the words of
wisdom of the Great White Chief, Clark. He thanked the Great Spirit for
this council fire which He had kindled at Cahokia.

Lifting the bowl of the censer, in the eyes of all the people he drew
in a long whiff to bear witness of peace. After him the pipe went the
interminable rounds of the chiefs. Colonel Clark took it, and puffed;
Captain Bowman puffed,--everybody puffed.

"Davy must have a pull," cried Tom; and even the chiefs smiled as I
coughed and s