Here the young fellow said something to the interpreter. There was a flicker of a smile on the half-breed's face.
“He say dat pistol he no good. He can't shoot. He not loaded.”
The Commissioner's face never changed a line. He gravely turned the pistol over in his hand, and truly enough the rusty weapon appeared to be quite innocuous except to the shooter.
“This is an extremely dangerous weapon. Why, it might have killed yourself—if it had been loaded. We cannot allow this sort of thing. However, since it was not loaded we shall make the sentence light. I sentence you to one month's confinement.”
The interpreter explained the sentence to the young Indian, who received the explanation without the movement of a muscle or the flicker of an eyelid. The constable touched him on the shoulder and said, “Come!”
Before he could move old Crowfoot with two strides stood before the constable, and waving him aside with a gesture of indescribable dignity, took his son in his arms and kissed him on either cheek. Then, stepping back, he addressed him in a voice grave, solemn, and vibrant with emotion. Jerry interpreted to the Court.
“I have observed the big Chief. This is good medicine. It is good that wrong should suffer. All good men are against wickedness. My son, you have done foolishly. You have darkened my eyes. You have covered my face before my people. They will ask—where is your son? My voice will be silent. My face will be covered with shame. I shall be like a dog kicked from the lodge. My son, I told you to go only to the store. I warned you against bad men and bad places. Your ears were closed, you were wiser than your father. Now we both must suffer, you here shut up from the light of the sky, I in my darkened lodge. But,” he continued, turning swiftly upon the Commissioner, “I ask my father why these bad men who sell whiskey to the poor Indian are not shut up with my son. My son is young. He is like the hare in the woods. He falls easily into the trap. Why are not these bad men removed?” The old Chief's face trembled with indignant appeal.
“They shall be!” said the Commissioner, smiting the desk with his fist. “This very day!”
“It is good!” continued the old Chief with great dignity. Then, turning again to his son, he said, and his voice was full of grave tenderness:
“Now, go to your punishment. The hours will be none too long if they bring you wisdom.” Again he kissed his son on both cheeks and, without a look at any other, stalked haughtily from the room.