Fellow, I told
him my plan and ordered him to slip away north while the two tribes were
parleying and to await me a day's march from the Sioux camp. He told me
of a wooded valley, where he could rest with his horses concealed, and
after seeing him off, I rode straight for the band of assembled Mandanes
and surprised them beyond all measure by taking a place in the forefront
of Black Cat's special guard. The Sioux warriors swept towards us in a
tornado. Ascending the slope at a gallop, whooping and beating their
drums, they charged past us, and down at full speed through the village,
displaying a thousand dexterities of horsemanship and prowess to strike
terror to the Mandanes. Then they dashed back and reined up on the
hillside beneath our forces. The men were naked to the waist and their
faces were blackened. Porcupine quills, beavers' claws, hooked bones,
and bears' claws stained red hung round their necks in ringlets, or
adorned gorgeous belts. Feathered crests and broad-shielded mats of
willow switches, on the left arm, completed their war dress. The leaders
had their buckskin leggings strung from hip to ankle with small bells,
and carried firearms, as well as arrows and stone lances; but the
majority had only Indian weapons. In that respect--though we were not
one third their number--we had the advantage. All the Mandanes carried
firearms; but I do not believe there was enough ammunition to average
five rounds a man. Luckily, this was unknown to the Sioux. I scanned
every face. Diable was not there.

Scarcely were the ranks in position, when both Sioux and Mandane chiefs
rode forward, and there opened such a harangue as I have never heard
since, and hope I never may.

"Our young man has been killed," lamented the Sioux. "He was a good
warrior. His friends sorrow. Our hearts are no longer glad. Till now our
hands have been white, and our hearts clean. But the young man has been
slain and we are grieved. Of the scalps of the enemy, he brought many.
We hang our heads. The pipe of peace has not been in our council. The
whites are our enemies. Now, the young man is dead. Tell us if we are
to be friends or enemies. We have no fear. We are many and strong. Our
bows are good. Our arrows are pointed with flint and our lances with
stone. Our shot-pouches are not light. But we love peace. Tell us, what
doth the Mandane offer for the blood of the young man? Is it to be peace
or war? Shall we be friends or enemies? Do you rais