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What
does my brother think? all whom he sees here have pale skins, but the
Pawnee warriors are red; does he believe that man changes with the
season, and that the son is not like his father?"
The young warrior regarded his interrogator for a moment with a steady
and deliberating eye; then raising his finger upward, he answered with
dignity--
"The Wahcondah pours the rain from his clouds; when he speaks, he
shakes the lulls; and the fire, which scorches the trees, is the anger
of his eye; but he fashioned his children with care and thought. What
he has thus made, never alters!"
"Ay, 'tis in the reason of natur' that it should be so, Doctor,"
continued the trapper, when he had interpreted this answer to the
disappointed naturalist. "The Pawnees are a wise and a great people,
and I'll engage they abound in many a wholesome and honest tradition.
The hunters and trappers, that I sometimes see, speak of a great
warrior of your race."
"My tribe are not women. A brave is no stranger in my village.


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