I forgot ache and weariness. The Winnebagoes were fifty in all, picked
men, and I looked them over and exulted. Erect and clean-limbed, they
were as dignified and wonderful as a row of fir trees, and physically I
felt a sorry object beside them. Yet they hailed me as leader, and
placing me on a robe of deerskins carried me into camp. They smoked
the pipe of fealty with me, and when I slept that night I knew that my
dream castles of the last two years were at last shaping into something
I could touch and handle. Their glitter was giving way to masonry.
The morning brought the Malhominis, the noon the Chippewas. I hoped
for the French and the Pottawatamies by night.
But the night did not bring them, nor the next morning, nor the next
day, nor yet the day following.
And in the waiting days I lived in four camps of savages, and it was my
duty to cover them with the robe of peace.
The wolf-eyed Sacs, the stately Winnebagoes, the Chippewas, and
Malhominis,--they sat like gamecocks, quiet, but alert for a ruffle of
one another's plumage. In council they were men; in idleness,
children. When I was with them, they talked of war and spoke like
senators. When I turned my back they gambled, lied, bragged, and
stole.
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