e the tomahawk, or
pipe of peace? Say, great chief of the Mandanes, what is thy answer?"

This and more did the Sioux chief vauntingly declaim, brandishing his
war club and addressing the four points of the compass, also the sun, as
he shouted out his defiance. To which Black Cat, in louder voice, made
reply.

"Say, great chief of the Sioux, our dead was brought into the camp. The
body was yet warm. It was thrown at our feet. Never before did it enter
the heart of a Missouri to seek the blood of a Sioux! Our messengers
went to your camp smoking the sacred calumet of peace. They were sons of
the Mandanes. They were friends of the white men. The white man is like
magic. He comes from afar. He knows much. He has given guns to our
warriors. His shot bags are full and his guns many. But his men, ye
slew. We are for peace, but if ye are for war, we warn you to leave our
camp before the warriors hidden where ye see them not, break forth. We
cannot answer for the white man's magic," and I heard my power over
darkness and light, life and death, magnified in a way to terrify my own
dreams; but Black Cat cunningly wound up his bold declamation by asking
what the Sioux chief would have of the white man for the death of the
messenger.

A clamor of voices arose from the warriors, each claiming some
relationship and attributing extravagant virtues to the dead Sioux.

"I am the afflicted father of the youth ye killed," called an old
warrior, putting in prior claim for any forthcoming compensation and
enhancing its value by adding, "and he had many feathers in his cap."

"He, who was killed, I desired for a nephew," shouted another, "and an
ivory wand he carried in his hand."

"He who was killed was my brother," cried a third, "and he had a new gun
and much powder."

"He was braver than the buffalo," declared another.

"He had three wounds!" "He had scars!" "He wore many scalps!" came the
voices of others.

"Many bells and beads were on his leggings!"

"He had garnished moccasins!"

"He slew a bear with his own hands!"

"His knife had a handle of ivory!"

"His arrows had barbs of beavers' claws!"

If the noisy claimants kept on, they would presently make the dead man a
god. I begged Black Cat to cut the parley short and demand exactly what
gift would compensate the Sioux for the loss of so great a warrior.
After another half-hour's jangling, in which I took an animated part,
beating down their exorbitant request for tw