s difficult to restrain him.
His companion's horse was also nearly unmanageable.

"My brother's voice is strong. Let him use it well," said the chief
abruptly.

"Ay, ay," replied the little trapper, with an intelligent chuckle; "go
ahead, my boy. I'll give it out fit to bu'st the bellows."

Instantly Whitewing shot from the wood, like the panther rushing on his
prey, uttering at the same time the tremendous war-cry of his tribe.
Little Tim followed suit with a roar that was all but miraculous in its
tone and character, and may be described as a compound of the
steam-whistle and the buffalo bull, only with something about it
intensely human. It rose high above the din of battle. The combatants
heard and paused. The two horsemen were seen careering towards them
with furious gesticulations. Red Indians seldom face certain death.
The Blackfoot men knew that an attack by only two men would be sheer
insanity; the natural conclusion was that they were the leaders of a
band just about to emerge from the thicket. They were thus taken in
rear. A panic seized them, which was intensified when Little Tim
repeated his roar and flourished the instrument of death, which he
styled his "little carving-knife." The Blackfeet turned and fled right
and left, scattering over the plains individually and in small groups,
as being the best way of baffling pursuit.

With that sudden access of courage which usually results from the
exhibition of fear in a foe, Bald Eagle's men yelled and gave chase.
Bald Eagle himself, however, had the wisdom to call them back.

At a council of war, hastily summoned on the spot, he said--

"My braves, you are a parcel of fools."

Clearing his throat after this plain statement, either for the purpose
of collecting his thoughts or giving his young warriors time to weigh
and appreciate the compliment, he continued--

"You chase the enemy as thoughtlessly as the north wind chases the
leaves in autumn. My wise chief Whitewing, and his friend Leetil Tim--
whose heart is big, and whose voice is bigger, and whose scalping-knife
is biggest of all--have come to our rescue _alone_. Whitewing tells me
there is no one at their backs. If our foes discover their mistake,
they will turn again, and the contempt which they ought to pour on
themselves because of their own cowardice they will heap on _our_ heads,
and overwhelm us by their numbers--for who can withstand numbers? They
will scatter us like small du