Useless was my attempt to change the faith in the medicine-man to that
abstract power named God. Then one day I became righteously mad with
anger that the medicine-man should thus ensnare my father's soul. And
when he came to chant his sacred songs I pointed toward the door and
bade him go! The man's eyes glared upon me for an instant. Slowly
gathering his robe about him, he turned his back upon the sick man and
stepped out of our wigwam. "Ha, ha, ha! my son, I can not live without
the medicine-man!" I heard my father cry when the sacred man was gone.




III.


On a bright day, when the winged seeds of the prairie-grass were flying
hither and thither, I walked solemnly toward the centre of the
camping-ground. My heart beat hard and irregularly at my side. Tighter I
grasped the sacred book I carried under my arm. Now was the beginning of
life's work.

Though I knew it would be hard, I did not once feel that failure was to
be my reward. As I stepped unevenly on the rolling ground, I thought of
the warriors soon to wash off their war-paints and follow me.

At length I reached the place where the people had assembled to hear me
preach. In a large circle men and women sat upon the dry red grass.
Within the ring I stood, with the white man's Bible in my hand. I tried
to tell them of the soft heart of Christ.