Chapter 28 - Page 2

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.