The Indians bowed their heads with humility at this reproach, but made no answer. The chief continued—"Will no one inform us of what has happened—why my chosen warriors are flying like scattered antelopes—where is Long Horn?"
A warrior emerged from the ranks.
"Long Horn is dead," he said, sorrowfully.
"He was a wise and renowned warrior; he has gone to the happy hunting grounds to hunt with the upright warriors. As he is dead, why did not the Blackbird take the totem in his hand in his place?"
"Because the Blackbird is dead," the warrior answered, in the same tone.
Natah Otann frowned, and his brow was contracted by the effort he made to suppress his passion.
"Oh!" he said, bitterly, "the greathearts of the east have fought well; their rifles carry truly. The two best chiefs of the nation have fallen, but the Red Wolf still remained—why did he not avenge his brothers?"
"Because he has also fallen," the warrior said, in a mournful voice.
A shudder of anger ran through the ranks.
"Wah!" Natah Otann exclaimed, with grief, "what is he also dead?"