ht. The general sent scouts to find the nature of
the dance and hubbub, and these brought word it was peaceful; and in the
morning another scout summoned the elder chiefs to a talk with the
friend who had come from the Great Father at Washington to see them and
find if their hearts were good.

"Our hearts are good," said Pretty Eagle. "We do not want war. If you
want Cheschapah, we will drive him out from the Crows to you."

"There are other young chiefs with bad hearts," said the commissioner,
naming the ringleaders that were known. He made a speech, but Pretty
Eagle grew sullen. "It is well," said the commissioner; "you will not
help me to make things smooth, and now I step aside and the war chief
will talk."

"If you want any other chiefs," said Pretty Eagle, "come and take them."

"Pretty Eagle shall have an hour and a half to think on my words," said
the general. "I have plenty of men behind me to make my words good. You
must send me all those Indians who fired at the agency."

The Crow chiefs returned to the council, which was apart from the war
party's camp; and Cheschapah walked in among them, and after him,
slowly, old Pounded Meat, to learn how the conference had gone.

"You have made a long talk with the white man," said Cheschapah. "Talk
is pretty good for old men. I and the young chiefs will fight now and
kill our enemies."

"Cheschapah," said Pounded Meat, "if your medicine is good, it may be
the young chiefs will kill our enemies to-day. But there are other days
to come, and after them still others; there are many, many days. My son,
the years are a long road. The life of one man is not long, but enough
to learn this thing truly: the white man will always return. There was a
day on this river when the dead soldiers of Yellow Hair lay in hills,
and the squaws of the Sioux warriors climbed among them with their
knives. What do the Sioux warriors do now when they meet the white man
on this river? Their hearts are on the ground, and they go home like
children when the white man says, 'You shall not visit your friends.' My
son, I thought war was good once. I have kept you from the arrows of our
enemies on many trails when you were so little that my blankets were
enough for both. Your mother was not here any more, and the chiefs
laughed because I carried you. Oh, my son, I have seen the hearts of the
Sioux broken by the white man, and I do not think war is good."

"The talk of Pounded Meat is very good,