oot rose to his feet.

The war-priest was not the figure that had led the band south after the
battle; not the haughty, stately brave that the sentimentalist loves to
picture. He was feathered and streaked as before. A stone mallet hung
from his belt. But he wore no string of bears' claws. They had gone the
way of the sutler, which was a tasty way, strewn with bright-labelled,
but aged, canned goods. And as for his embroidered shirt, it was much
soiled and worn, and he had so gained in weight--through plentiful food
and lack of exercise--that he pressed out upon it deplorably with a
bulging paunch.

Pompously, but using no gestures or inflections, he began a rambling,
lengthy account of his past deeds of valour. From these he finally
swerved to the recital of his people's wrongs. He climaxed, after an
interminable amount of talking, with a boast that awakened the hearty
approbation of his sloven fellows. "We but wait for the winter to go,"
he said, "for in the spring we shall have freedom. Our brothers, who are
sly as foxes and swift as hawks, will sweep down upon the pony soldiers
and slay them."

He sat down amid a chorus of "Ho! Hos!" The semicircle moved and bent
and nodded. It was plain that he had expressed a common belief.

There was one Indian not of the council to whom his words meant more
than freedom. That Indian was Squaw Charley. A moment after Colonel
Cummings' arrival, the pariah had crept noiselessly into the lodge and
lain down in the shadows. From there, careful all the while to be quiet
and to keep himself well screened, he listened to Lame Foot. But when
the chief came to his bragging conclusion, Squaw Charley forgot his own
degradation for a moment, and forgot to fear discovery. Was a battle
indeed coming! New hope all at once!--the hope that he would have the
opportunity, long desired, of getting away from the squaws, the old men,
and the mocking children, and going with the warriors. Once with them,
even in the role of cook or drudge, the chance might come to do a brave
act, such an act as would reinstate him. Perhaps he could wound an
enemy, and count coup upon him; perhaps he could face bullets or arrows
to rescue a brother----

His dull eyes glinted like cut beads. In very excitement, he raised his
bent, spare body.

Hearing the movement, Lame Foot glared round, and his eyes fell upon the
outcast.

"Woo!" he cried. "A squaw in the council-lodge! Woo!"

There was a general turning, and