ook teaches us to allow our enemies to raid in our lands, to carry off
our women and little ones, and to burn our wigwams, while we sit still
and wait till they are pleased to take our scalps?"

Having put this rather startling question, he subsided as promptly as he
had burst forth.

"That's a poser!" thought the irreverent Little Tim, who sympathised
with Bounding Bull, but he said nothing.

"My brother has been well named," replied the uncompromising Whitewing;
"he not only bounds upon his foes, but lets his mind bound to foolish
conclusions. The Book teaches peace--if possible. If it be not
possible, then we cannot avoid war. But how can we know what is
possible unless we try? My brother advises that we should go on the
war-path at once, and drive the Blackfeet away. Has Bounding Bull tried
his best to bring them to reason? has he failed? Does he know that
peace is _impossible_?"

"Now look here, Whitewing," broke in Little Tim at this point. "It's
all very well for you to talk about peace an' what's possible. I'm a
Christian man myself, an' there's nobody as would be better pleased than
me to see all the redskins in the mountains an' on the prairies at peace
wi' one another. But you won't get me to believe that a few soft words
are goin' to make Rushin' River all straight. He's the sworn enemy o'
Boundin' Bull. Hates him like pison. He hates me like brimstone, an'
it's my opinion that if we don't make away wi' him he'll make away wi'
us."

Whitewing--who was fond of silencing his opponents by quoting Scripture,
many passages of which he had learned by heart long ago from his friend
the preacher--did not reply for a few seconds. Then, looking earnestly
at his brother chief, he said--

"With Manitou all things are possible. A soft answer turns away wrath."

Bounding Bull pondered the words. Little Tim gave vent to a doubtful
"humph"--not that he doubted the truth of the Word, but that he doubted
its applicability on the present occasion.

It was finally agreed that the question should not be decided until the
whole council had returned to Tim's Folly, and laid the matter before
the wounded missionary.

Then Little Tim, being freed from the cares of state, went to solace
himself with domesticity.

Moonlight was Indian enough to know that females might not dare to
interrupt the solemn council. She was also white woman enough to scorn
the humble gait and ways of her red kindred, and to run ea