“Then my people will not harm the Sioux. They seek the good will o’ all. But they are brave and will give blow fur blow. When the Sioux attacks, the white will defend.”
As the scout concluded, Mahaska gave utterance to a low, peculiar chirrup, when there was heard a dull fluttering like many wings, and the next instant fully three score Indian warriors burst from the forest shadows and gathered around our friends and their chief.
A chill of distrust passed over our friends at sight of the painted and plumed warriors, but they allowed no look to betray their inward emotion to the red-skins.
Mahaska made a brief speech to his warriors and informed them that they were about to smoke the pipe of peace with the whites.
This bit of news was received with a savage yell that jarred very discordantly upon the tympanum of our friends.
Old Tumult nudged Town. and grinned “broadly.”
A circle was now formed. Mahaska drew from a greasy tobacco-pouch a large, dirty calumet which he loaded and lit. He then took a few whiffs, and handed it to Old Tumult, who, in a turn, “drew” very lightly on the obnoxious “seal of peace.”
In a few minutes the pipe had “swung around the circle,” and was lodged in its greasy receptacle, and peace between the whites and Sioux was declared.
However, Old Tumult knew the Indian’s nature too well to put implicit confidence in him, and he would not have been surprised had they broken their promise of peace ere the obnoxious taste of the “pipe of peace,” was out of his mouth.
The warriors now gathered around Old Tumult and gazed upon him with no little curiosity, for in days past, he had been a constant terror to them, and had ornamented his girdle with the scalps of many of their friends.