us. The superintendent says you are one of the bad Indians, singing war
songs and opposing the government all the time; this morning you were
seen trying to set fire to the government agency."

"Hunhunhe!" replied the old chief, placing the palm of his hand over his
mouth agap in astonishment. "All this is unbelievable!"

The policeman took hold of the pony's bridle and turned the reluctant
little beast around. They led it back with them and the old chieftain
set unresisting in the saddle. High Flier was taken before the
superintendent, who charged him with setting fires to destroy government
buildings and found him guilty. Thus Chief High Flier was sent to jail.
He had already suffered much during his life. He was the voiceless man
of America. And now in his old age he was cast into prison. The chagrin
of it all, together with his utter helplessness to defend his own or his
people's human rights, weighed heavily upon his spirit.

The foul air of the dingy cell nauseated him who loved the open. He sat
wearily down upon the tattered mattress, which lay on the rough board
floor. He drew his robe closely about his tall figure, holding it
partially over his face, his hands covered within the folds. In profound
gloom the gray-haired prisoner sat there, without a stir for long hours
and knew not when the day ended and night began. He sat buried in his
desperation. His eyes were closed, but he could not sleep. Bread and
water in tin receptacles set upon the floor beside him untouched. He was
not hungry. Venturesome mice crept out upon the floor and scampered in
the dim starlight streaming through the iron bars of the cell window.
They squeaked as they dared each other to run across his moccasined
feet, but the chieftain neither saw nor heard them.