Let my brother open his eyes wide: does he
no where see an enemy he would strike?"
"How long is it since the Teton counted the scalps of his warriors,
that were drying in the smoke of a Pawnee lodge? The hand that took
them is here, and ready to make eighteen, twenty."
"Now, let not the mind of my brother go on a crooked path. If a Red-
skin strikes a Red-skin for ever, who will be masters of the prairies,
when no warriors are left to say, 'They are mine?' Hear the voices of
the old men. They tell us that in their days many Indians have come
out of the woods under the rising sun, and that they have filled the
prairies with their complaints of the robberies of the Long-knives.
Where a Pale-face comes, a Red-man cannot stay. The land is too small.
They are always hungry. See, they are here already!"
As the Teton spoke, he pointed towards the tents of Ishmael, which
were in plain sight, and then he paused, to await the effect of his
words on the mind of his ingenuous foe. Hard-Heart listened like one
in whom a train of novel ideas had been excited by the reasoning of
the other.
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