ive figures stalked
majestically into the centre of the room. They were the leading chiefs
of an Indian reservation coming to pay their respects to their
"Great Father," the President. Their costumes were a mingling of the
picturesque with the grotesque; of tawdriness with magnificence; of
artificial tinsel and glitter with the regal spoils of the chase; of
childlike vanity with barbaric pride. Yet before these the glittering
orders and ribbons of the diplomats became dull and meaningless, the
uniforms of the officers mere servile livery. Their painted, immobile
faces and plumed heads towered with grave dignity above the meaner
crowd; their inscrutable eyes returned no response to the timid
glances directed towards them. They stood by themselves, alone and
impassive,--yet their presence filled the room with the sense of kings.
The unostentatious, simple republican court suddenly seemed to have
become royal. Even the interpreter who stood between their remote
dignity and the nearer civilized world acquired the status of a court
chamberlain.

When their "Great Father," apparently the less important personage, had
smilingly received them, a political colleague approached Peter and took
his arm. "Gray Eagle would like to speak with you. Come on! Here's your
chance! You may be put on the Committee on Indian Relations, and pick up
a few facts. Remember we want a firm policy; no more palaver about the
'Great Father' and no more blankets and guns! You know what we used to
say out West, 'The only "Good Indian" is a dead one.' So wade in, and
hear what the old plug hat has to say."

Peter permitted himself to be led to the group. Even at that moment he
remembered the figure of the Indian on the tomb at Ashley Grange, and
felt a slight flash of satisfaction over the superior height and bearing
of Gray Eagle.

"How!" said Gray Eagle. "How!" said the other four chiefs. "How!"
repeated Peter instinctively. At a gesture from Gray Eagle the
interpreter said: "Let your friend stand back; Gray Eagle has nothing to
say to him. He wishes to speak only with you."

Peter's friend reluctantly withdrew, but threw a cautioning glance
towards him. "Ugh!" said Gray Eagle. "Ugh!" said the other chiefs. A few
guttural words followed to the interpreter, who turned, and facing Peter
with the monotonous impassiveness which he had caught from the chiefs,
said: "He says he knew your father. He was a great chief,--with many
horses and many squaws. H