"This is the way a young chief should talk of war," he answered with
singular composure; "but Mahtoree has seen the misery of more winters
than his brother. When the nights have been long, and darkness has
been in his lodge, while the young men slept, he has thought of the
hardships of his people. He has said to himself, Teton, count the
scalps in your smoke. They are all red but two! Does the wolf destroy
the wolf, or the rattler strike his brother? You know they do not;
therefore, Teton, are you wrong to go on a path that leads to the
village of a Red-skin, with a tomahawk in your hand."
"The Sioux would rob the warrior of his fame? He would say to his
young men, Go, dig roots in the prairies, and find holes to bury your
tomahawks in; you are no longer braves!"
"If the tongue of Mahtoree ever says thus," returned the crafty chief,
with an appearance of strong indignation, "let his women cut it out,
and burn it with the offals of the buffaloe. No," he added, advancing
a few feet nigher to the immovable Hard-Heart, as if in the sincerity
of confidence; "the Red-man can never want an enemy: they are plentier
than the leaves on the trees, the birds in the heavens, or the
buffaloes on the prairies.
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