as five
hundred savages. Jim had, therefore, opportunities to practice his
offices of friendliness.

Fortunately for him, he at once succeeded in establishing himself in
the good graces of Glickhican, the converted Delaware chief. The
wise old Indian was of inestimable value to Jim. Early in their
acquaintance he evinced an earnest regard for the young minister,
and talked with him for hours.

From Glickhican Jim learned the real nature of the redmen. The
Indian's love of freedom and honor, his hatred of subjection and
deceit, as explained by the good old man, recalled to Jim Colonel
Zane's estimate of the savage character. Surely, as the colonel had
said, the Indians had reason for their hatred of the pioneers.
Truly, they were a blighted race.

Seldom had the rights of the redmen been thought of. The settler
pushed onward, plodding, as it were, behind his plow with a rifle.
He regarded the Indian as little better than a beast; he was easier
to kill than to tame. How little the settler knew the proud
independence, the wisdom, the stainless chastity of honor, which
belonged so truly to many Indian chiefs!

The redmen were driven like hounded deer into the untrodden wilds.
From freemen of the forests, from owners of the great boundless
plains, they passed to stern, enduring fugitives on their own lands.
Small wonder that they became cruel where once they had been gentle!
Stratagem and cunning, the night assault, the daylight ambush took
the place of their one-time open warfare. Their chivalrous courage,
that sublime inheritance from ancestors who had never known the
paleface foe, degenerated into a savage ferocity.

Interesting as was this history to Jim, he cared more for
Glickhican's rich portrayal of the redmen's domestic life, for the
beautiful poetry of his tradition and legends. He heard with delight
the exquisite fanciful Indian lore. From these romantic legends,
beautiful poems, and marvelous myths he hoped to get ideas of the
Indian's religion. Sweet and simple as childless dreams were these
quaint tales--tales of how the woodland fairies dwelt in
fern-carpeted dells; how at sunrise they came out to kiss open the
flowers; how the forest walks were spirit-haunted paths; how the
leaves whispered poetry to the winds; how the rocks harbored Indian
gods and masters who watched over their chosen ones.

Glickhican wound up his long discourses by declaring he had never
lied in the whole course of his seventy y