the council chamber to
refresh himself. While the custodian of the keg was getting him a drink,
McLeod asked if he had heard his speech, and how he liked it. The
sergeant ventured a not very flattering criticism on some remark he had
made, when George slapped him viciously across the face with a pair of
buckskin gauntlets he held in his hand. He had hardly struck the blow,
when the sergeant seized him, and rushed him across the hall to the
railing around the staircase, reaching which, over McLeod went backwards
to the bottom, sixteen feet below, with a crash that could be heard all
over the building. In a moment or two, my friend, Joe Rolette, came
running breathlessly to me, and gasped out, "Hiawatha, Hiawatha" [the
name he always called me], "McLeod is dead." I sprang to my feet, and
rushed down stairs, where I found McLeod laid out on a lounge in the
office of the secretary of the territory, with Doctor Le Boutillier, a
French member from St. Anthony, endeavoring to pacify him. The
conversation ran as follows:

Doctor: "Georges, mon ami; ne bouge pas, tu a le bras casse."

McLeod: "Fiche-Moi la paix, on peut courber le bras a un
Ecossais; on ne peut pas le lui casser."

Which translated would read:

"George, my friend, be quiet, your arm is broken."

"Stand aside, you may bend a Scotchman's arms, but you can't
break them."

Poor McLeod's right arm was broken badly, which laid him up until the
end of the session.

A short time after the legislature had dissolved George was standing in
a saloon on Third street, with his right arm in a sling, and a glass of
whisky in his left hand, which he was about to drink, when who should
walk in but the big sergeant. Without a word George discharged the
contents of his glass into the face of the sergeant, and prepared for
battle, crippled as he was; but the interruption of friends and the
chivalry of the sergeant prevented an encounter, and so ended the
legislative career of the gentleman from Canada. Whether it would have
terminated otherwise had we set up our coach and livery and changed our
moccasins for patent leather boots I leave to the decision of the
reader.

He went with General Sibley's command to the Missouri, where I believe
he remained.

THE VIRGIN FEAST.

In all ages, and among all people who had progressed beyond absolute
individualism and gained any kind of government or community interests,
there must have been som