"Yes," he continued, "the Manitou has been very kind. Who is the
Manitou? Has any Indian ever seen him? Every Indian has seen him. No
one can look on the hunting-grounds, on the lakes, on the prairies,
on the trees, on the game, without seeing his hand. His face is to
be seen in the sun at noonday; his eyes in the stars at night. Has
any Indian ever heard the Manitou? When it thunders, he speaks. When
the crash is loudest, then he scolds. Some Indian has done wrong.
Perhaps one red man has taken another red man's scalp!"
Another pause succeeded, briefer, and less imposing than the first,
but one that sufficed to impress on the listeners anew, the great
evil of an Indian's raising his hand against an Indian.
"Yes, there is no one so deaf as not to hear the voice of the Great
Spirit when he is angry," resumed Peter. "Ten thousands of buffalo
bulls, roaring together, do not make as much noise as his whisper.
Spread the prairies, and the openings, and the lakes, before him,
and he can be heard in all, and on all, at the same time.
"Here is a medicine-priest of the pale-faces; he tells me that the
voice of the Manitou reaches into the largest villages of his
people, beneath the rising sun, when it is heard by the red man
across the great lakes, and near the rocks of the setting sun.
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