the others kept a passage clear to the gate.

As for the son of the Great White Chief, he sat for a long time that
afternoon beside the truck patch of the house. And presently he slipped
out by a byway into the street again, among the savages. His heart was
bumping in his throat, but a boyish reasoning told him that he must show
no fear. And that day he found what his Colonel had long since learned
to be true that in courage is the greater safety. The power of the Great
White Chief was such that he allowed his son to go forth alone, and
feared not for his life. Even so Clark himself walked among them, nor
looked to right or left.

Two nights Colonel Clark sat through, calling now on this man and now on
that, and conning the treaties which the English had made with the
various tribes--ay, and French and Spanish treaties too--until he knew
them all by heart. There was no haste in what he did, no uneasiness in
his manner. He listened to the advice of Monsieur Gratiot and other
Creole gentlemen of weight, to the Spanish officers who came in their
regimentals from St. Louis out of curiosity to see how this man would
treat with the tribes. For he spoke of his intentions to none of them,
and gained the more respect by it. Within the week the council began;
and the scene of the great drama was a field near the village, the
background of forest trees. Few plays on the world's stage have held
such suspense, few battles such excitement for those who watched. Here
was the spectacle of one strong man's brain pitted against the combined
craft of the wilderness. In the midst of a stretch of waving grass was a
table, and a young man of six-and-twenty sat there alone. Around him
were ringed the gathered tribes, each chief in the order of his
importance squatted in the inner circle, their blankets making patches of
bright color against the green. Behind the tribes was the little group
of hunting shirts, the men leaning on the barrels of their long rifles,
indolent but watchful. Here and there a gay uniform of a Spanish or
Creole officer, and behind these all the population of the village that
dared to show itself.

The ceremonies began with the kindling of the council fire,--a rite
handed down through unknown centuries of Indian usage. By it nations had
been made and unmade, broad lands passed, even as they now might pass.
The yellow of its crackling flames was shamed by the summer sun, and the
black smoke of it was wafted by the sout