"There was no one like Tecumseh," continued Nenimkee in tones like the thrilling blast of distant thunder. "No arm so strong, no eye so true, no heart so soft when his little ones and his Laughing Fawn were with him. His bullet went straight to the bull's eye, and his arrow to the heart of the moose. His tomahawk never wavered, but as lightning from the eagle's eyrie strikes the tepee of the Indian, so his axe cleaved the skulls of his enemies, while his knife spilled their life blood at his feet. Now it is all over, and while the red man's blood cries for vengeance, his heart bleeds for his chief."
"How did you escape when so many were slain around you?" asked the Colonel.
"The sun went down as Tecumseh's war-whoop ended and Nenimkee led his warriors deeper into the woods."
"Did you lose many men?"
"Forty braves went—only twenty came back."
"You did not join the troops again?"
"What use? All is quiet in winter. The Ojibways went straight to their wigwams."
"Do you know how the war goes this year?"
"Only that the fight is toward the rising sun."
"You will bring more news when you return?"