He laid them in a great grave. He honored them, and
planted trees with drooping leaves at their head and at their feet,
and put a fence round that the foxes might not touch their bones.
Shall the Indian be less generous than the white man? Even those
taken in battle they spared and sent home. Shall we kill the White
Bird captured in her nest? My brothers will not do so. They will
send back the White Bird to the great white chief. Have I spoken
well?"
This time a confused murmur ran round the circle. Some of the
younger men were struck with this appeal to their generosity, and
were in favor of the Raven's proposition; the elder and more
ferocious Indians were altogether opposed to it.
Speaker succeeded speaker, some urging one side of the question,
some the other.
At last the Stag again rose. "My brothers," he said, "my ears have
heard strange words, and my spirit is troubled. The Raven has told
us of the ways of the whites after a battle; but the Indians' ways
are not as the whites' ways, and the Stag is too old to learn new
fashions. He looks round, he sees many lodges empty, he sees many
women who have no husbands to hunt game, he hears the voices of
children who cry for meat. He remembers his brothers who fell
before the flying fire and the guns which loaded themselves, and
his eyes are full of blood.
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