the young chief, with a scornful sneer at the implied
threat against himself. "But where are his proofs?"

For a moment the eye of the party thus challenged kindled
into flame, while his lips were firmly compressed together;
and as he half bent himself forward, to scan with greater
earnestness the features of his questioner, his right
hand sank to his left side, tightly grasping the handle
of his scalping-knife. The action was but momentary.
Again he drew himself up, puffed the smoke deliberately
from his bloody tomahawk, and, thrusting his right hand
into his bosom, drew leisurely forth a reeking scalp,
which he tossed insolently across the fire into the lap
of the young chief. A loud and general "ugh!" testified
the approbation of the assembled group, at the unequivocal
answer thus given to the demand of the youth. The eye
of the huge warrior sparkled with a deep and ferocious
exultation.

"What says the smooth face of the Ottawas now?" he
demanded, in the same insolent strain. "Does it make his
heart sick to look upon the scalp of a great chief?"

The young man quietly turned the horrid trophy over
several times in his hand, examining it attentively in
every part. Then tossing it back with contemptuous coolness
to its owner, he replied,--

"The eyes of my brother are weak with age. He is not
cunning, like a red skin. The Ottawa has often seen the