Presently an Indian boy notified the teacher that the chief had heard of Mr. Pod's arrival, and wished him to dine with him at his lodge. I accepted, and the boy departed; and soon afterward Coonskin and I were escorted to the chief's wigwam, taking my dog pack with me.
Me-tah-ah-qua met us with a grunt, rubbed my nose against his until it became lopsided, and likewise greeted Coonskin.
Then the chief waved us into the wigwam. He seated me on his right, and Coonskin on his left, while opposite to me he placed his disenchanting daughter of forty-five summers. Opposite the chief sat his first councilman, Muck-qua-push-e-too (young one), and at my right, at the entrance of the tent in full view of the host was seated our Government interpreter, seemingly much amused by the event. I lost no time in presenting my dogs to the chief, who in broken sentences, half Indian, half English, accepted the munificent gift in befitting words.
The spread consisted of a wolf skin, and on it rested a large flat stone on which to stand the kettle of soup when ready.
For some moments the chief regarded me searchingly, then said, "Me-tah-ah-qua wants—big donk man to live with him—and marry—his only daughter—Ne-nah-too-too. Me-tah-ah-qua will give—him a bow and a quiver of arrows—three seasoned pipes—five ponies—a new wicky-up—two red blankets—a deer skin—bag full of dogs' teeth—fifteen scalps taken by his father."
The chief left off abruptly, as if for my answer, but I shook my head thoughtfully, and the chief continued:
"If you—will marry my daughter (here the chief glanced at me, then let his eyes dwell fondly on that aged belle of forty-five summers), Me-tah-ah-qua will make—you chief of his tribe—before he goes to—the Happy Hunting Grounds. He will call—your first born Chicky-pow-wow-wake-up."
I was never more embarrassed, and eyed the damsel of forty-five summers, trying to persuade myself that she was beautiful and rich, and still shook my head. The old chief, seeing his inducements were not alluring, motioned to his councilman to pass the pipe of peace. After we had all taken a puff at it, the kettle of dog soup was set before us, and we all dipped in our ladles, the chief first, and began to eat.
When I first looked into that caldron of bouillon, I could see in my mind's eye, all kinds and conditions of dog staring at me, and almost fancied I could hear them barking. The soup wasn't bad, after all; it reminded me of Limburger cheese, in that it tasted better than it smelled. But Coonskin and I, and even our interpreter, ate sparingly (I use the word "ate," because there was so much meat in it). I learned from the teacher that the whole kettleful of soup was extracted from one small spaniel. "Dog gone!" I sighed.
The feast at an end, I thanked the chief for the honor conferred upon me, shook hands with his daughter, and departed. Barley Korker, Mac A'Rony and the rest of the party welcomed me with glee, and soon we were marching over the hill toward the house of the Indian farmer.