Brothers, listen. The white men grow many, and we are few. In war we
are helpless--only one weapon remains to us now. It is the
thunderbolt--it is fire.

"Warriors, listen. The moon grows. Who of you will cross the river and
ride once more into the Red Man's Paradise, and give the prairies to the
flames? The torch is all that is left us now."

Every Indian raised his arm except Main-Pogue and Waubeno, and signified
his desire to unite in the plan for the desolation of the prairies.

"Main-Pogue, will you carry your torch in the night of fire?"

"I have been saved by the hand of a white man, and I will not turn my
hand against the white man. I could not do it if I were young. But I am
old--my people are gone. Leave me to fall like the leaf."

"Son of Alknomook, what will you do?"

"I will follow your counsel for my father's sake, but I will spare my
friends for the sake of the arm that was stretched out over the head of
Main-Pogue."

"Then you will go."

"I would that I were dead. I would that I could live as the white
teacher taught me--in peace with every one. I would that I had not this
blood of fire, and this memory of darkness, and this vow upon my head.
The white teacher taught me that all people were brothers. My brain
burns--"

Late in the evening Waubeno went to Main-Pogue and sat down by his side
under the trees. The river lay before them with its green islands and
rapid currents, serene and beautiful. The lights had gone out on the
other shore, and the world seemed strangely voiceless and still.

"How did _he_ look, Waubeno?"

"Who look?"

"That man who saved you--stretched his arm over you."

"His arm was long. His face was as sad as an Indian's; and he was tall.
He was a head taller than other men; he rose over them like an oak over
the trees. The men laughed at him; then his face looked as though it was
set against the people--he looked like a chief--and the men cowered,
and jeered, and cowered. I can see how he looked, but I can not tell
it--I can see it in my mind. I told him that I would tell Waubeno, and
he seemed to know your name. Did you never meet such a man?"

"Yes, in the Indiana country. He was journeyed from the Wabash."

The Indians, after the council we have described, began to cross the
Mississippi by night, and to make stealthy journeys into the Rock River
country, once known as the Red Man's Paradise. Rock River is a beautiful
stream of the prairies. It comes dashing out o