It was fully expected that Peter would next arise, but
he did not. Perceiving this, and willing to allow time to that great
chief to arrange his thoughts, Crowsfeather assumed the office of
filling the gap. He was far more of a warrior than of an orator, and
was listened to respectfully, but less for what he said, than for
what he had done. A good deal of Indian boasting, quite naturally,
was blended with HIS discourse.
"My brother has told you of the Yankee scalps," he commenced. "He
says they are many. He says there ought to be fewer. He did not
remember who sat so near him. Perhaps he does not know that there
are three less now than there were a moon since. Crowsfeather took
three at Chicago. Many scalps were taken there. The Yankees must be
plentier than the buffaloes on the great prairies, if they can lose
so many scalps often, and send forth their warriors. I am a
Pottawattamie. My brothers know that tribe. It is not a tribe of
Jews, but a tribe of Injins. It is a great tribe. It never was LOST.
It CANNOT be lost. No tribe better knows all the paths, and all the
best routes to every point where it wishes to go. It is foolish to
say you can lose a Pottawattamie.
Pages:
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562