A flattering murmur greeted the concluding remarks of the young man, who sat down, blushing.
"It appears to me," Whistler then said, "that the debate need not be a long one. As war is decided on, the council of the Confederation has only to seek allies among the other Indian nations, in order to augment the number of our warriors, if that be possible. As regards the operations, and the period when the Mexican territory is to be invaded, that will devolve on the military committee, who pledge themselves to the profoundest secrecy about their discussions, until the hour for action arrives. I have spoken."
Thunderbolt rose.
"Chiefs and sachems of the Confederation of the Papazos," he said in his sympathetic and sonorous voice, "and you, warriors, our allies, the moment for dissolving your council has at length arrived. Henceforth the committee of the five chiefs will alone sit. Each of you will return to his tribe, arm his warriors, and order the scalp dance to be performed round the war post; but the eighth sun must see you here again at the head of your warriors, in order that all may be ready to act when the invasion is decided on. I have spoken. Have I said well, powerful men?"
The chiefs rose in silence, resumed their weapons, and immediately left the village, starting in different directions at a gallop. Thunderbolt and Stronghand were left alone.
"My son," the old man then said, "have you nothing to tell me?"
"Yes, father," the young man respectfully answered; "I have very serious news for you."