ade with their guns, and their powder, and their
blankets, and beads, and cloth (he wisely went all over it again for the
sake of effect), there must be peace in the land. If there is war the
pale-faces will take all their good things and go away--waugh!"

Finishing off in the true red-man style, Lumley sat down with decision,
as though to say, "Now, the ball is at your own feet, kick it which way
you please."

Then the chief of the savages rose with dignity, but with a tinge of
eagerness which he could not altogether conceal, and said:--

"Let not my white brother talk of going away. War shall cease at his
bidding. Let him and his pale-faced warriors fell trees, and build
wigwams, and hunt. We have plenty furs--the black fox, the red fox, the
beaver, the marten, the minks, the bear, and many other animals are
plentiful. We will exchange them for the goods of the white man. We
will bury the hatchet, and smoke the calumet of peace, and the sound of
the war-whoop shall no more be heard in the land--waugh!"

"Are my brothers ready to go to the camp of Big Otter, and make friends
at once?" asked Lumley.

This was a testing question, and for some time remained unanswered,
while the chiefs and braves looked preposterously solemn. At last,
however, they seemed to make up their minds, and the chief replied, "We
are ready."

That night the hostile savages met on the shores of Lake Wichikagan, and
encamped with the fur-traders. Fires were lighted, and kettles put on,
a royal feast was prepared; and the reunited tribes of red-men finally
buried the war-hatchet there, and smoked the pipe of peace.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

LUMLEY ON DUTY--FORT WICHIKAGAN BEGINS TO GROW.

The bold and prompt manner in which peace was established among the
contending savages of Lake Wichikagan did more to raise my friend Jack
Lumley in their estimation than if he had fought a hundred successful
battles, and subdued a nation of foes. It seemed to be felt on all
hands that he was a man who could be trusted, and his pointed reference
to the Great Spirit conveyed an impression that truth and justice must
be his guiding principles.

And on this point these children of nature read his character correctly,
for, as I have had frequent occasion to observe, my friend was strictly
truthful, and, I might almost say, sternly just. Duty indeed was his
pole-star--duty to God and man.

"Max," he once said to me when we had got into a confidential