interval of silence; but I could hear low mutterings
of surprise and disappointment as soon as it was perceived that the
Indian did not answer to his name.

I alone knew the reason of his absence; I knew that Wakono _could_ not--
the true Wakono; that his counterfeit _would_ not come. Though I had
undertaken to personate the savage chieftain, for this act in the drama
I was not prepared. The stage must wait!

Even at that moment I was sensible of the ludicrousness of the
situation; so extreme was it, that even at that moment of direst peril,
I felt a half inclination for laughter!

But the feeling was easily checked; and once more parting the branches,
I ventured to look forth.

I saw there was some confusion. Wakono had been reported "missing."
The members of the council still preserved both their seats and stoical
composure; but the younger warriors behind were uttering harsh
ejaculations, and moving about from place to place with that restless
air that betokens at once surprise and disappointment.

At this crisis, an Indian was seen emerging from the tent. He was a man
of somewhat venerable aspect, though venerable more from age than any
positive expression of virtue. His cheeks were furrowed by time, and
his hair white as bleached flax--a rare sight among Indians.

There was something about this individual that bespoke him a person of
authority. Wakono was the son of the chief--the chief, then, should be
an old man. This must be he?

I had no doubt of it, and my conjecture proved to be correct.

The white-haired Indian stepped forward to the edge of the ring, and
with a wave of his hand commanded silence.

The command was instantly obeyed. The murmurings ceased, and all placed
themselves in fixed attitudes to listen.

CHAPTER NINETY SEVEN.

SPEECHES IN COUNCIL.

"Hietans!" began the chief, for such in reality was the old Indian, "my
children, and brothers in council! I appeal to you to stay judgment in
this matter. I am your chief, but I claim no consideration on that
account; Wakono is my son, but for him I ask no favour; I demand only
justice and right--such as would be given to the humblest in on tribe; I
ask no more for my son Wakono.

"Wakono is a brave warrior; who among you does not know it? His shield
is garnished with many trophies taken from the hated pale-face; his
leggings are fringed with scalps of the Utah and Cheyenne; at his heels
drag the long locks of the Pawnee and A