The men and boys all seemed to be glad to see the Tunker, and they greeted Waubeno kindly, though curiously, and plied him with civil questions about Black Hawk.
There was to be a debate that evening, and Mr. Jones called the men to order, and each one mounted a barrel and lit his pipe—or all except Abraham and Waubeno, who did not smoke, but who stood near each other, almost side by side.
"Abraham," said Thomas Lincoln, "you'll have to argue the p'int for the Indian well to-night, or—there he is!"—pointing to Waubeno—"he'll answer ye."
The debate went slowly at first, then grew exciting. When Abraham Lincoln's turn came to speak, all the store grew still. The subject of the debate was, as Thomas Lincoln had said: "Which has the greater cause for complaint, the Indian or the negro?"
Abraham Lincoln claimed the Indian was more wronged than the negro, and his homely face glowed as with a strange fire as he pictured the red man's wrongs. He towered above the men like a giant, and moved his arms as though they possessed some invisible power.
Waubeno fixed his eyes on him, and felt the force and thrust of his every word.
"If I were a negro," said Lincoln, "I would hope that some redeemer and deliverer would arise, like Moses of old. But if I were an Indian, what would I have to hope for, if I fell under the avarice of the white man? Let the past answer that."
"Let the heavens answer that," said Waubeno, "or let their gates be ever closed."
Thomas Lincoln started.
"Waubeno, you have come from Black Hawk. He slays men, and we know him. An Indian killed my father."