“The prairie is open to every one. The gens du large may roam unquestioned to worship the Manitou in the giant caves of the mountain.”
“My brother is a gens du lac. Has he been seeking the Great Spirit?”
“When the war-cry of the Dacotahs rung upon his ears he thought himself alone with the spirits of the mountain. But why are the horses of the Black Eagle turned toward the setting sun? The trail they are following leads away from their squaws and little ones.”
“The white man has many hoofs. His pouch is filled with the red gold. The Dacotahs are poor. The buffalo and deer have been driven from his hunting-grounds—the beaver and otter from the stream. The wild horse has fled before the fire-weapon of the pale-face—the green maize is cut down beneath the roll of his iron-shod wheels. The children of the prairie seek food for their little ones in vain. The wigwam is empty. The pale-face robbed the Dacotah and they but take their own back again.”
“The words of Black Eagle are like the trail of the serpent, crooked and full of guile. His tongue is forked and his feet have lost the trail of truth. There is neither hoof nor food of the pale man in his keeping.”
“They were beaten off—the pale-faces were thick as the berries of the mahnononee.”
“The kernels of the wild rice are countless. The Dacotah is not a mole that runs blindly into a trap. The fire-weapons of the pale-face are death. Where are the wounded and the dead among the red-men?”
Quailing as Black Eagle did in heart before this straightforward questioning, and well aware that the stranger knew the truth of the matter, he yet prevaricated:
“The red-men fled. When they saw that the pale-face would sweep them from the earth, they—”
“Stole this innocent girl and fled like cowardly wolves.”