"Children, you are hungry. We will adjourn for two hours."
"Heigh! heigh! heigh-h!" rolled the chorus across the Prairie.
As to an army, rations were distributed, beef, bread, corn, salt, sugar, tobacco. Each ate, ate, ate,—till not a scrap was left to feed a humming-bird.
Revered of his people, Wabasha and his pipe-bearers were the observed of all.
"I never yet was present at so great a council as this," said Wabasha. Three thousand were at Prairie du Chien.
The Sioux? Far from the northwest they said their fathers came,—the Tartar cheek was theirs. Wabasha and his chiefs alone had the Caucasian countenance.
Three mighty brothers ruled the Sioux in the days of Pontiac,—Wabasha, Red Wing, and Little Crow. Their sons, Wabasha, Red Wing, and Little Crow ruled still.
"Boundaries?" they knew not the meaning of the word. Restless, anxious, sharp-featured Little Crow fixed his piercing hazel eye upon the Red Head,—
"Taku-wakan!—that is incomprehensible!"
"Heigh! What does this mean?" exclaimed the Chippewas.