"They grow heavy early," Jennie added, "but the little girls are beautiful—see that little one!"
The crier, a tall old man, toothless and wrinkled and gray, began to cry in a hollow, monotonous voice, "Come to the council place," and Curtis led his flock to their places in the midst of the circle.
The council began with all the old-time forms, with gravity and decorum. Red Wolf was in the centre, with Many Coups at his left. The pipe of peace went round, and those whose minds were not yet prepared for speech drew deep inspirations of the fragrant smoke in the hope that their thoughts might be clarified, and when they lifted their eyes they seemed not to perceive their visitors or those who passed to and fro among the tepees. The sun, westering, fell with untempered light on their heads, but they faced it with the calm unconcern of eagles.
To please his guests, Curtis allowed the utmost formality, and did not hasten, interrupt, or excise. The speeches were translated into English by Lawson, and at each telling point or period in Red Wolf's speech the women looked at each other in surprise.
"Did he really say that?" asked Elsie. "Didn't you make it up?"
"Rather good for a ragamuffin, don't you think?" said Lawson, as the old man took his seat.
Many Coups spoke slowly, sadly, as though half communing with himself, with nothing of the bombast the visitors had expected, and he grew in dignity and power as his thought began to make itself felt through his interpreter.
"He is speaking for his race," remarked Lawson to Elsie.
"By Jove! the old fellow is a good lawyer!" cried Parker. "I don't see any answer to his indictment."
Curtis sat listening as though each point the old man made were new—and this attitude pleased the chieftains very much.