" said Pretty Eagle. "If
Cheschapah were wise like his father, this trouble would not have come
to the Crows. But we could not give the white chief so many of our
chiefs that he asked for to-day."

Cheschapah laughed. "Did he ask for so many? He wanted only Cheschapah,
who is not wise like Pounded Meat."

"You would have been given to him," said Pretty Eagle.

"Did Pretty Eagle tell the white chief that? Did he say he would give
Cheschapah? How would he give me? In one hand, or two? Or would the old
warrior take me to the white man's camp on the horse his young squaw
left?"

Pretty Eagle raised his rifle, and Pounded Meat, quick as a boy, seized
the barrel and pointed it up among the poles of the tepee, where the
quiet black fire smoke was oozing out into the air. "Have you lived so
long," said Pounded Meat to his ancient comrade, "and do this in the
council?" His wrinkled head and hands shook, the sudden strength left
him, and the rifle fell free.

"Let Pretty Eagle shoot," said Cheschapah, looking at the council. He
stood calm, and the seated chiefs turned their grim eyes upon him.
Certainty was in his face, and doubt in theirs. "Let him send his bullet
five times--ten times. Then I will go and let the white soldiers shoot
at me until they all lie dead."

"It is heavy for me," began Pounded Meat, "that my friend should be the
enemy of my son."

"Tell that lie no more," said Cheschapah. "You are not my father. I have
made the white man blind, and I have softened his heart with the rain. I
will call the rain to-day." He raised his red sword, and there was a
movement among the sitting figures. "The clouds will come from my
father's place, where I have talked with him as one chief to another. My
mother went into the mountains to gather berries. She was young, and the
thunder-maker saw her face. He brought the black clouds, so her feet
turned from home, and she walked where the river goes into the great
walls of the mountain, and that day she was stricken fruitful by the
lightning. You are not the father of Cheschapah." He dealt Pounded Meat
a blow, and the old man fell. But the council sat still until the sound
of Cheschapah's galloping horse died away. They were ready now to risk
everything. Their scepticism was conquered.

The medicine-man galloped to his camp of hostiles, and, seeing him, they
yelled and quickly finished plaiting their horses' tails. Cheschapah had
accomplished his wish; he had become the pro