The witch, in Smithfield, shall be burned to ashes, And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.
—Shakspeare.
The Siouxes had awaited the issue of the foregoing dialogue with commendable patience.
Most of the band were restrained, by the secret awe with which they regarded the mysterious character of Obed; while a few of the more intelligent chiefs gladly profited by the opportunity, to arrange their thoughts for the struggle that was plainly foreseen.
Mahtoree, influenced by neither of these feelings, was content to show the trapper how much he conceded to his pleasure; and when the old man discontinued the discourse, he received from the chief a glance, that was intended to remind him of the patience, with which he had awaited his movements.
A profound and motionless silence succeeded the short interruption.
Then Mahtoree arose, evidently prepared to speak.
First placing himself in an attitude of dignity, he turned a steady and severe look on the whole assembly.
The expression of his eye, however, changed as it glanced across the different countenances of his supporters and of his opponents.
To the former the look, though stern, was not threatening, while it seemed to tell the latter all the hazards they incurred, in daring to brave the resentment of one so powerful.
Still, in the midst of so much hauteur and confidence, the sagacity and cunning of the Teton did not desert him.
When he had thrown the gauntlet, as it were, to the whole tribe, and sufficiently asserted his claim to superiority, his mien became more affable and his eye less angry.
Then it was that he raised his voice, in the midst of a death-like stillness, varying its tones to suit the changing character of his images, and of his eloquence.
“What is a Sioux?” the chief sagaciously began; “he is ruler of the prairies, and master of its beasts.
The fishes in the ‘river of troubled waters’ know him, and come at his call.
He is a fox in counsel; an eagle in sight; a grizzly bear in combat.
A Dahcotah is a man!” After waiting for the low murmur of approbation, which followed this flattering portrait of his people, to subside, the Teton continued—“What is a Pawnee?
A thief, who only steals from women; a Red-skin, who is not brave; a hunter, that begs for his venison.
In counsel he is a squirrel, hopping from place to place; he is an owl, that goes on the prairies at night; in battle he is an elk, whose legs are long.
A Pawnee is a woman.”
Another pause succeeded, during which a yell of delight broke from several mouths, and a demand was made, that the taunting words should be translated to the unconscious subject of their biting contempt.
The old man took his cue from the eyes of Mahtoree, and complied.
Hard-Heart listened gravely, and then, as if apprized that his time to speak had not arrived, he once more bent his look on the vacant air.
The orator watched his countenance, with an expression that manifested how inextinguishable was the hatred he felt for the only chief, far and near, whose fame might advantageously be compared with his own.
Though disappointed in not having touched the pride of one whom he regarded as a boy, he proceeded, what he considered as far more important, to quicken the tempers of the men of his own tribe, in order that they might be prepared to work his savage purposes.
“If the earth was covered with rats, which are good for nothing,” he said, “there would be no room for buffaloes, which give food and clothes to an Indian.
If the prairies were covered with Pawnees, there would be no room for the foot of a Dahcotah.
A Loup is a rat, a Sioux a heavy buffaloe; let the buffaloes tread upon the rats and make room for themselves.
“My brothers, a little child has spoken to you.
He tells you, his hair is not grey, but frozen—that the grass will not grow where a Pale-face has died.
Does he know the colour of the blood of a Big-knife?
No!
I know he does not; he has never seen it.
What Dahcotah, besides Mahtoree, has ever struck a Pale-face?
Not one.
But Mahtoree must be silent.
Every Teton will shut his ears when he speaks.
The scalps over his lodge were taken by the women.
They were taken by Mahtoree, and he is a woman.
His mouth is shut; he waits for the feasts to sing among the girls!”
Notwithstanding the exclamations of regret and resentment, which followed so abasing a declaration, the chief took his seat, as if determined to speak no more.
But the murmurs grew louder and more general, and there were threatening symptoms that the council would dissolve itself in confusion; and he arose and resumed his speech, by changing his manner to the fierce and hurried enunciation of a warrior bent on revenge.
“Let my young men go look for Tetao!” he cried; “they will find his scalp drying in Pawnee smoke.
Where is the son of Bohrecheena?
His bones are whiter than the faces of his murderers.
Is Mahhah asleep in his lodge?
You know it is many moons since he started for the blessed prairies; would he were here, that he might say of what colour was the hand that took his scalp!”
In this strain the artful chief continued for many minutes, calling those warriors by name, who were known to have met their deaths in battle with the Pawnees, or in some of those lawless frays which so often occurred between the Sioux bands and a class of white men, who were but little removed from them in the qualities of civilisation.
Time was not given to reflect on the merits, or rather the demerits, of most of the different individuals to whom he alluded, in consequence of the rapid manner in which he ran over their names; but so cunningly did he time his events, and so thrillingly did he make his appeals, aided as they were by the power of his deep-toned and stirring voice, that each of them struck an answering chord in the breast of some one of his auditors.
It was in the midst of one of his highest flights of eloquence, that a man, so aged as to walk with the greatest difficulty, entered the very centre of the circle, and took his stand directly in front of the speaker.