e was the central fire of smouldering logs, without
which no Indian can exist in summer or winter. The smoke passed out
through a square chimney in the middle of the roof.

In a large circle the chief's councilors sat perched upon their haunches
and swathed in their blankets. There was not a seat or table there. They
sat in their councils as their forefathers had done before them, their
leader in their midst with nothing but his youth to distinguish him from
those who were his subjects.

The debate proceeded in its spasmodic fashion. There was no haste, no heat
like in the debates of civilized folk. Each man was listened to in
respectful silence, which might have served as an example to modern
legislatures. Nevil spoke like the rest in their low, musical tongue.
Whenever he spoke it was noticeable that the great, wild eyes of the chief
were turned upon him with interest. But even he seemed a mere unit in the
debate, no more and no less, unless it were that Little Black Fox was more
influenced by what he said than by what was said by the others.

At length, well on into the night, the meeting drew to a close. The
business in hand had been threshed out and a decision arrived at. The
warriors and the men of "medicine" filed slowly out. Even in this there
was a certain formality and precedence. Each man addressed his chief,
shook hands, and passed through the door. And no two went out together.

When the last had gone Nevil and the chief remained alone in the bare
room. Little Black Fox rose from his pile of skins and stood erect. He was
a mere youth, but of such shape and appearance that one could easily
understand the epithet "romantic" Rosebud had applied to him. He stood at
least four inches over six feet, and dwarfed even Nevil's height. But it
was in the perfect symmetry of his lithe, sinuous body, and the keen,
handsome, high-caste face where his attractions lay.

His eyes were the eyes of the untamed savage, but of a man capable of
great thought as well as great reckless courage. There was nothing
sinister in them, but they were glowing, live eyes which might blaze or
soften in two succeeding moments, which exactly expresses the man's
character. He was handsome as Indian men go. Not like the women. They are
often beautiful in a way that appeals to any artistic eye, but the men are
a type for study before they can be appreciated.

This chief was in the first flush of manhood, and had attained nothing of
the sear