"One day, a few years before he died, after the last council wigwam was demolished (wigwam, or we-go-wam, is a Chippewa word for any kind of a house), and the ground on which it stood had been ploughed up, he called together at his residence, the few who still adhered to the ancient customs of the tribe. It was his last feast, and the last dance song of this feast sounded mournful to the ears of the distant passer, who knew what it was.

"Two Indians, with whole snapping turtle shells, having some hard substance inside to make a rattling sound, sat on the ground, with two folded deer skins, pelt side out, between them, on which they beat with the turtle shells, while singing for the dance. The necks of the turtles were stretched out to their utmost length and stiffened, for handles. After the dance, the musicians were allowed to walk off with the deer skins as their compensation."

Much has been said concerning the bravery and adventures of Chief Splitlog, not only in the battles against General Wayne, but also in the war of 1812.

William Walker, the father of Governor Walker, was one of General Harrison's scouts at that time. Having been captured, several years before, by the Delawares, and traded to the Wyandots, he had become, both by marriage and adoption, a member of the latter nation. During the heat of battle he was taken prisoner by the British and carried along with the army, his wife, also a prisoner, being placed on board an English warship.

In 1842 Silas Armstrong and Matthew Walker, whose Indian name, translated, was "Twisting the Forest," were sent beyond the Mississippi to locate a new home, and went as far west as Salina, Kansas, with the intention of buying a large tract of land. A thorough investigation, however, resulted in their securing from the Delawares a comparatively small tract, seven or eight miles in extent, and the Wyandots established themselves at the mouth of the Kaw River.

William Walker, afterward Provisional Governor of Nebraska Territory, had previously traveled west, having this removal in mind, and examined the lands. He was a man of education and great strength of character—an acknowledged leader in the nation, as well as a writer of merit.

Matthias Splitlog was identified with the early commercial interests of Kansas City. Leaving Canada about the year 1840, he resided for some time at Neosho, Missouri, and was the projector of a small railroad, now a portion of the Pittsburg & Gulf line. He removed to Wyandotte, Kansas, became interested in numerous financial ventures and was known as the wealthiest of the Indians. Shrewd business men and corporations rendered his later life a series of law suits; and much property was sacrificed.

This silent and reserved man lived, for many years, simply, in a log house. His wife was unable to converse in English. Finally, accompanying the remnant of the tribe to the Indian Territory, he built a mansion, with modern conveniences, in the reservation of the Senecas.

At the time of emigration to Kansas, a majority of the people were of superior intelligence, had long adopted the arts of civilization and, through the influence of missionaries, had become converted to Methodism. They were distinguished for regularity of feature and grace of movement, keeping perfect measure in the dance. The women were adepts in the art of needle-work. At the home of a lady of Wyandot lineage, is exhibited an elaborate piece of beading, of great age, in fleur-de-lis pattern. The center of each leaf is of pale pink, encircled with dark green, skillfully shaded to delicate tints. A variety of colors were introduced, yet the whole produced a most harmonious effect.

The belle of the nation in the '40s is said to have been so beautiful and cultured that, on the occasion of a visit to New Orleans, she was supposed to be a French lady, and the most exclusive society of the city extended courtesies. The handsome young woman reigned supreme for a short period. On the return trip, three or four squaws boarded the steamer, and after standing quietly back for a brief space, silent witnesses of her numerous conquests, one of them came forward and said:

"Her squaw, like me—heap big squaw."

Contrary to general opinion, the Indians possessed a keen sense of humor and thoroughly enjoyed a laugh at the expense of one of their number.

In the olden days, Elder Dennison conducted services in the Methodist Church, through an interpreter. One Sunday, owing to the illness of the latter, a well-educated Wyandot named Browneyes, was engaged as substitute. Browneyes, not being religiously inclined, had partaken too freely of firewater. However, he appeared on the scene well dressed in honor of the event. A huge cravat, faultlessly tied, and a dark green coat, resplendent with brass buttons, were prominent features of his attire. Unfortunately, a large flask protruded from his hip pocket, and it was quietly decided that Mr. Armstrong should officiate. Browneyes sat down in a front seat, apparently humiliated on account of being supplanted. The sermon proceeded smoothly for a time, then he remarked, distinctly:

"Sile, you are not telling a word of truth, and you know it."

No attention was paid to the interruption, but when the discourse became more eloquent, he averred, loudly and decidedly:

"Sile, that's a lie, and you know it."

Elder Dennison, discontinuing the address, said:

"Let us pray."

Descending from the rostrum, he placed one hand in the back of Browneyes' cravat, twisted it until the man's tongue hung out, and prayed long and loudly. It is needless to say this was the last time the services were interfered with while the elder presided.

A strange story is related concerning

THE TRIUMPH OF CHUDAQUANA OVER THE POWER OF WITCHCRAFT.

For some reason, Chudaquana had gained the enmity of a certain old woman of the community; perhaps he had unwittingly slighted her; perhaps a family feud existed; at any rate, the evil black eyes seemed to follow him from place to place. It was reported that this woman had the faculty of changing herself into a dog. Chudaquana noticed that a stealthy-looking canine was constantly at his heels. Day after day, and week after week, the animal was to be seen skulking near. The eyes were certainly those of the witch. Fearing some great misfortune might ensue if this continued, he decided to be rid of the nuisance once and forever.

In order to kill a witch it was necessary to use silver bullets. Having procured these, Chudaquana went about his ordinary pursuits, keeping a sharp lookout, meantime, for the enemy. It could be seen in the rear, at some distance, tracing his footsteps. The man sought shelter behind a tree. On came the wild-looking animal, sniffing at the ground. As it paused directly opposite, there was a sharp report, an unearthly howl, and the witch was no more. The silver bullet had fulfilled its mission. The old woman, so rumor said, carried to the day of her death, festering and sore, the mark of a bullet in her side.

Romantic courtships and marriages between Wyandot maidens and white settlers were not infrequent.

Before the entire tribe had discarded its picturesque costume, a young man of Caucasian descent located among the Wyandots for the purpose of trade. One clear October morning, looking from the door of the small frame building in which he conducted business, he saw a graceful figure approaching, and a moment later, an Indian girl of thirteen or fourteen years, arrayed in all the finery of her people, stepped lightly across the threshold and stood, glancing confusedly and with decided coquetry, at the young merchant. Her slight form was clothed with a loose crimson waist, or shirt, and a short skirt ornamented with embroidery and notched ribbons. Beaded moccasins covered the little feet, and broadcloth leggings extended to the knees. Her black hair was confined by a silk handkerchief. The color came and went in the dark cheeks, and bright eyes flashed admiration from under long lashes. He hastened to respond to orders given timidly in the universal language of signs.

Again and again Markrete visited the store, purchasing brilliant hued calicoes, beads and blankets, and receiving little presents from the trader, who endeavored in this manner to win her regard. At last he was compelled to employ an interpreter, who attempted to persuade her to accept an offer of marriage.

For some time the girl turned a deaf ear to all overtures. She was too young to give up freedom; and marriage, to an Indian woman, meant slavery. She climbed fences and rode horses; on one occasion, when there was no ferry, swimming her horse across the river in order to visit a relative.

However, after protracted efforts under many difficulties, the young man was victorious; and acquired rights in the nation, an Indian name, and last, but not least, pretty Markrete.

The Wyandots have been gradually absorbed by the white race, and those who maintain tribal relations are located in the Indian Territory. Many prominent residents of Kansas City are descended from the Wyandots.

VII.
THE POTTAWATOMIES.

The Pottawatomies were of Algonquin descent and were termed "Firemakers," in reference to their secession from the Odjibwas and becoming the makers of their own fires. The Odjibwa tradition says that there were two brothers at St. Mary's Falls. The fishing-rod of the younger was taken into the rapids by the other and accidentally broken. A quarrel ensued. The elder brother went south. This was the origin of a new tribe. The Pottawatomies of the Woods, located in Wisconsin and Michigan; and the Prairie Bands, of Illinois and Indiana, formed the two principal divisions of the nation, whose homes were scattered from the shores of Lake Superior to the Illinois River. In language and customs, the Pottawatomies were similar to the Ottawas and Chippewas, with whom they were closely allied. They crowded the Miamis from the vicinity of Chicago.

In the war of 1812, the Prairie Bands, under the leadership of Suna-we-wone, fought against the Americans, and were at the massacre at Fort Dearborn. The United States effected a treaty of peace with them in 1815, and afterward purchased a portion of their land. Eighteen years later, the cession known as the Platte Purchase was made, in consideration of which the Government granted 576,000 acres adjoining the Shawnees and Delawares, in Kansas. Subsequently, the tribe became widely scattered. Portions located in Wisconsin, Iowa, Kansas and the Indian Territory.

The Pottawatomies believed in two Great Spirits, Kitchenonedo, Good Spirit, and Matchemondo, Evil Spirit. Kitchenonedo made the world and its first inhabitants; they looked like people, but were wicked ungrateful dogs that never lifted their eyes from the ground, to return thanks.

In punishment, the Creator dropped the earth, with everything upon it, into a great lake, from which it emerged only after the destruction of the race. Then a handsome young man appeared, who seemed sad because of loneliness. Kitchenonedo pitied him and sent a sister to brighten his life. Many years later the young man had a dream. Telling it to his sister, he said:

"Five young men will come to your lodge door this night. The Great Spirit forbids you to answer or even look up and smile at the first four, but when the fifth comes, you may speak and laugh and show that you are pleased."

She obeyed his directions. The first who arrived was named U-sa-ma, or Tobacco, and being repelled, he fell down and died; the next, Wa-pa-ko, or Pumpkin, meeting a like reception, followed his example; the third, Esh-kos-si-min, or Melon, and the fourth, Ko-kees, or Bean, had the same misfortune; but she smiled upon the fifth, who was named Tamin, or Montamin (Maize), and opened the lodge door that he might enter. They were married; and from them are descended the North American Indians.

Tamin buried his ill-fated rivals; and from their graves sprang tobacco, melons, beans and pumpkins; and the Pottawatomies said that was the way in which the Good Spirit furnished his people something to put into their a-keeks, or kettles, with the meat, and something to offer as a gift at feasts and ceremonies.

Long after a majority of the nation had become Christianized, they clung, in a great measure, to the ancient superstitions.

Not many miles distant from the place where Topeka now stands, lived a chief called Menweshma. Menweshma was a believer in the Indian doctrine of transformation, and gravely asserted that he could turn his four hundred and eighty pounds of flesh into a bird or beast. Tradition says that it was a favorite pastime of his, to assume the form of an owl.

Being an inveterate gambler, he at one time became the victim of a scheme by which he was defrauded. This so enraged the Pottawatomie that he killed the seven Indians who participated in the trick, and according to the laws of the tribe, was called upon to pay a heavy ransom or submit to death. After surrendering all his possessions, Menweshma was yet indebted to the amount of five hundred dollars. This sum was borrowed from the trader, and year after year passed and the chief continued to disregard the solicitations of the white man to pay.

One night, after Menweshma had appeared particularly annoyed by these requests, the settler and his family were disturbed by the hooting of an owl. Seizing a rifle, the man shot in the darkness at what appeared to be the outline of the bird, and saw an object fall to the ground. On reaching the spot, he stooped to pick it up—and the nocturnal visitor could not be found.

At nine o'clock next morning came a messenger with the request that he go at once to Menweshma, who was dying. Entering the hut, he was left alone with the medicine man and the dying chief. The Pottawatomie, disclosing a great wound in his side, said:

"Didn't you shoot an owl at your house, last night? I was that owl, and had gone there to poison your children."

Queer explanations were accepted without question, by the Indians, and often white folks were puzzled to account for strange events.

Even the most warlike tribes did not hesitate to resort to deception, if, perchance, a victory were to be gained without striking a blow.

Below the junction of the Republican and Smoky Hill rivers was a reservation of the Pottawatomies. Just without its limits, the Pawnees, always at war and straying from rightful boundaries, were wont to lie in wait for their less courageous neighbors.

On a sunny afternoon in the spring of 1856, seven or eight hunters and trappers, going westward from Fort Riley, were confronted by a panic-stricken band of several hundred Pottawatomies. The fugitives, galloping toward the reservation, shouted, "Pawnee! Pawnee!" Later in the day, the plainsmen came upon the Pawnees, a party of fifty men, celebrating with great satisfaction, their success in putting the foe to flight. The latter, in the morning, had camped not far from a large hill, or bluff, behind which the enemy were holding consultation as to the best mode of attack. In order to give the impression of numerical strength, the fifty braves filed around and around the bluff, seemingly an interminable line, then, with blood-curdling war-whoops, dashed toward the camp. The Pottawatomies fled precipitately, leaving the entire supplies to fall into the hands of the strategists, who took advantage of every opportunity to intimidate the more pacific nations of eastern or southern origin, removed west by the Government.

With the exception of the Shawnee Prophet, the cruel and vindictive war-chief, Wa-baun-see, was, doubtless, the most famous Indian among the emigrant nations. His brave deeds have formed the subject of many interesting anecdotes. Notable among them is

THE STORY OF THE FLAT-BOAT.

Near the close of the eighteenth century, the Americans again commenced to encroach upon Indian territory, and some of them proceeded southwestward down the Ohio River in large boats about thirty-five or forty feet in length and ten or twelve feet in breadth, with barricaded decks. The rightful owners of the soil, determined to prevent further settlement, disputed every mile of progress by all possible means.

One day the scouts, led by Wa-baun-see, watched a floating fort from the north bank of the river. An attack was feasible, since the pilot kept well to the middle of the stream, beyond reach. The Indians consulted as to the best method of overcoming this difficulty. Word was sent to the main body of warriors to conceal themselves at a certain point that jutted out into the water, at some distance below their present location. They were also instructed to be prepared for battle when the boat should go ashore. Meantime, despite all efforts to the contrary on the part of the pilot, the raft showed a decided tendency to approach the river bank. The man at the helm was admonished again and again, but insisted that he had been doing all in his power to keep off from shore. The pilot then made a careful examination of the boat on the side next to land. A black object bobbed up occasionally, then disappeared. Closer scrutiny revealed a nude Indian, swimming under water and tugging away at a rope held in his teeth. The other end was fastened to the boat. Once in a while the swimmer was compelled to come to the surface for breath.

Quietly obtaining his bayonet, the pilot watched the water with interest. Again the dark head and shoulders emerged. They were those of the war-chief. Quick as a flash, the bayonet plunged downward into his back. Wa-baun-see sank out of sight, keeping under water until he reached the shore. The braves conveyed him to a place of safety and carefully dressed the dangerous wound. The daring chief recovered.

When the Osages were strong and powerful, and claimed thousands of broad acres south of the Missouri River, they were frequently at war with the Pottawatomies. During a battle, Wa-baun-see was routed, in addition to losing a friend in the sally. The proud spirit of the war-chief was injured; and the humiliation caused by defeat and the death of the brave rankled in his mind after other warriors had seemingly forgotten the circumstances. He determined to seek revenge, should it ever become possible. Years passed without the gratification of his wishes. Then came the news that, at an appointed time, a delegation of Osages would visit a certain western fort. Wa-baun-see, with some of his best men, repaired to the post, and, after a formal interview, withdrew. They galloped a few miles away and waited for darkness. The Osages feared treachery and communicated their suspicions to the commandant. Permission to sleep inside the fortifications was asked and granted.

In the night, when all was silent, Wa-baun-see rode quietly toward the place. He stationed his men at a safe distance and went forward to inspect the defenses. It was necessary to employ the utmost caution, in order to avoid the guards. Approaching, he threw himself upon the ground and crept around the walls, finding, at last, an embrasure, almost too small to permit the passage of a man's body. The chief was seeking revenge and was not to be daunted, therefore, after a long and painful effort, succeeded in writhing through the aperture, and warily sought out the adversaries of his people. They were sleeping soundly, feeling secure in the protection afforded by the presence of soldiers. Wrapped in a blanket, and lying upon the ground a short distance from the group, was the head chief. Crawling through the grass, the Pottawatomie reached his side. There was no disturbance, only a dull thud, as the tomahawk buried itself in the head of the slumberer. Securing the scalp, Wa-baun-see retired as noiselessly as he had come.

In the morning the Osages were greatly surprised and enraged to learn that the enemy had been in their midst.

The impression that the relentless chief was the most ferocious Indian of his time, was confirmed by the frightful punishment of one of his wives, accused by another wife, probably a favorite, of cruelty to his children. Without giving the poor woman an opportunity to plead her cause, he commanded the accuser to split open her skull.

Wa-baun-see accompanied his tribe to Kansas in 1846, and during the latter part of that year, went to Washington, with other influential men, to conclude a treaty with the Government. The stage-coach, in which they passed through Missouri on the way home, overturned near Boonville, and Wa-baun-see sustained severe injuries, which ultimately resulted in death.

VIII.
THE SHAWNEES.

As the white people entered Louisiana, the Shawnees sought new homes, again and again. Finally, they relinquished all claims in Missouri, in consideration of a large purchase in Kansas. In 1854 a treaty was signed, disposing of all their land except two hundred thousand acres, which were divided among individuals; and in 1869 the remnant of the tribe removed to the Cherokee country, in the Indian Territory.

A migration tradition says that once, when the Shawnees lived in the far East, on the shores of the Great Salt Lake, they were surprised to see, riding along on the back of a large fish, a creature that looked like a man, although it had long green hair like weeds, a face like a porpoise and a beard the color of ooze. Around its neck were strings of sea-shells, and in its hand was a staff made from the rib of a whale; and, most astonishing of all, the strange being had the bodies of two fishes for legs. He stopped near shore and sang of the beautiful things in the depths of the sea. The people heard, in amazement, for he spoke their language.

Day after day and week after week, the Man-Fish might be seen, seated on the water, with his legs curled up under him; and all the time he sang of new countries; and the people, charmed, left their work and listened. Men forgot to go hunting and the women no longer busied themselves around the wigwams, but stood on the beach and watched. Repeatedly, the creature sang: "Come, follow me"; but they refused to go. At last the supply of food in the village was exhausted. Hunters entered a boat and tried to catch fish, but without success. The Man-Fish flirted water over them with his legs, and laughed at their trouble, chanting a melody about the wonderful Spirit Island, in the midst of the Great Salt Sea. The Shawnees said:

"Can you show us anything better than we have—good wives, good children, good dogs and plenty of deer?"

But the stranger reminded them of storms in the Moon of Falling Leaves, of snow and ice, of hunger and constant danger from wild animals and painted warriors, saying:

"Come with me and I will show you a land where the air is always warm and soft, and the flowers are always in bloom; where you will find as many deer as are among your icy hills, and great herds of animals called bison; where the men grow tall and the women beautiful as the stars of night."

The Shawnees were afraid, and attempted to go toward shore, but were held back by an unknown hand. They consulted among themselves. The Man-Fish bobbed up his head and sang: "Follow me." They decided to obey.

Out on the water, a mighty storm arose. The Great Spirit could be heard hissing in the depths of the ocean. The boat rocked and swayed on the billows; but the protector was near and told them not to fear. He brought food and a shell of fresh water from the bottom of the sea. Two moons passed before land appeared. It was the glittering Spirit Island, with big trees and high mountains. From some of them lightning seemed to shoot. Along the shores were seals and ducks. The inhabitants fled into the woods, when they saw the Man-Fish, who went to find the Spirit of the Island. He entered a cave and soon returned, accompanied by a being as strange as himself. It had a head like a goat, with horns and beard, and moss-colored hair. Its legs and feet were covered with handsomely decorated leggings and moccasins. Speaking with the voice of a man, it said:

"I will take you, men of the Land of Snows, to a beautiful place, where you will find all that could be desired."

The Man-Fish departed, and under the guidance of their new friend, the strangers reached the interior of the Spirit Island. They married the maidens of the country and grew into a bold, strong and valiant nation, overcoming all tribes east of the River of Rivers.

The Shawnees were of Algonquin stock and were the roving clans, the gypsies of the wilderness, described by William Penn, belligerent under ill-treatment but peaceable when dealt with justly. Referring to the creation, they said:

"The Master of Life made the Shawnees first, from his brain, and gave them all his knowledge. Other red people descended from them. He made the French and English from his breast, the Dutch from his feet and the Long-knives (Americans) out of his hands."

One of the most interesting legends is that which has reference to the origin of the Piqua Shawnees. The word "Piqua" signifies "Man Made from Ashes."

It seems that long ago, in the dim past, the nation made a talk against the Walkullas, who lived not far away, on the shore of the Great Salt Lake. The older men opposed a war; but Mad Buffalo and the young warriors refused to listen to their counsel.

"We are strong," said they, "and the Walkullas are weak."

A party, eager for a fight, went out from the village. Two moons passed and there were no tidings of the young men. The Walkullas were distant only six suns journey. The third moon went by; and Chenos, the oldest and wisest man of the tribe, called the people together in council; he told them that the young warriors had been slain. There was a shriek of horror and the women began to lament for their husbands and sons.

"Yet," said Chenos, "there is one left, who has had vengeance on the enemy and has drunk their blood; he will soon be here."

Even as he spoke, the Mad Buffalo entered the Council Wigwam. One arm was tied up with a piece of deer skin; and there was dried blood upon his body. Attached to a pole, over his shoulder, were seven scalps. Six of them had long black hair, but the seventh was the color of sunshine, and curling. He told them how the braves had crept up to the enemy and watched them prepare a feast to the Great Spirit; then, when all was in readiness, the war-cry had been sounded. The Shawnees had killed many, but the foe had been visited by people with skins as white as the clouds, who had taught them to use thunder and lightning in battle. Mad Buffalo's men had done well, but were slain, at last.

Chenos told the leader that he should not have gone at a time when the Walkullas were making sacrifices. The relatives of the dead warriors called out for vengeance. The wise men counseled as to what would most surely appease the Master of Breath. Chenos said:

"The Mad Buffalo must give up that which is most dear."

The leader, casting a fierce glance toward him, said he would offer none of his own blood, but would kill a deer. Then Chenos said:

"The Mad Buffalo has not told all. There is another, a prisoner, with trembling heart."

The warrior replied:

"Mad Buffalo never lies; he has a prisoner"; and with that, he went out of the Council Wigwam and brought in a woman. He motioned her to lift the veil that covered her face. The wild men of the forest gazed entranced. She had a skin white as snow, and cheeks, red, but not with paint, like the Indian's. More beautiful than the flowers, than the sun, moon or clouds, was the maiden. The Mad Buffalo claimed her as his own, telling how he had saved her and carried her in his arms.

The relatives of the dead men cried out for blood. Chenos forbade the sacrifice, saying that perhaps she had come from the Great Spirit. Then the wicked ones left the place and sought the aid of a bad man named Sketupah. Sketupah said the beautiful woman must be sacrificed; he directed that certain religious rites be performed, with a wolf, a tortoise and a rattlesnake.

A large ball rolled up the hill and unwound itself. A queer little old man with green eyes, stepped out. The ball was made from his own hair, which was the color of moss, and so long that when blown around by the wind, it seemed like the tail of a star. The little old man, who was the Evil Spirit, commanded them to bring forth the beautiful woman and tie her to a stake. They did so, and piled sticks around her feet. As the flames arose, the Mad Buffalo, giving his war-cry, ran forward against the Evil Spirit. A breath from the powerful one, and he lay stricken with death. Chenos called on the Master of Life for help. The Ruler of All came, his eyes visible from afar, shining like two great stars. The evil one grew small, and his power failed when the Great Spirit advanced. The beautiful woman was spared and the Master of Life said:

"Men of the Shawnee nation, the pale-faced people from over the Great Salt Lake are your brothers."

He told them that he had made all races; that the Indian was red because fear never entered his breast; that the heart of the white man was so chilled that the blood was scared from his cheeks; that the Shawnee had been brought from the land of the pale-face, long ago, but had lost his paleness. Then he said:

"Rake the ashes of the sacrificial fire; and when the Star of the Evening rises, put in the body of Mad Buffalo and cover it over with wood; keep the fire burning for two whole moons; bring out the beautiful woman and place her near the ashes. This is the will of the Great Spirit."

The people obeyed these commands, and when the time had been fulfilled, there was a disturbance in the ashes, and a man, tall, strong and perfect, came forth. He walked up to the maiden and looked into her eyes. Chenos gave her to him as a wife; and from them were the Piquas descended.

A Shawnee religious belief, the doctrine of a pre-natal existence, bears some resemblance to that of the Buddhists, and reminds one of the fact that all nations have a common ancestor in the Aryan race. The following incident, related by an Indian agent, proves the implicit faith reposed in this particular belief.

When the United States Government removed the tribe to Kansas, the Pawnees waged incessant war against the new arrivals. Many times, ere the country became their home, had war parties of the Shawnees traversed the rolling prairie, passed out upon the plains, battled with the wild Indians of the West, and returned, sometimes laden with booty, to their reservation east of the Mississippi.

The red man never forgets what he considers an indignity. The spirit of revenge is always an incentive to action; hence, the recent comers were under the necessity of keeping themselves in readiness for an encounter at any moment. Rumors of an attack by the enemy floated into the settlements, and the head chief marshaled out his men to check the advancing warriors. After a ride of one hundred miles to the northwest, the scouts, far to the front, espied in the distance, what appeared to be a great number of small black objects, outlined against the sky. A nearer view disclosed the fact that the Pawnees were approaching. Information was carried to the main body.

Both parties called a halt. Then, the war-chief of the Shawnees, accompanied by an aide, rode forward, signifying that he desired a conference. He was met in the open space between the lines, by an opponent, a fierce-looking Indian, and by his side a brave of unusual size and strength. Contrary to custom, it was agreed, after a parley, that two of the most skillful warriors should meet upon the prairie, in the presence of both sides, and decide the battle by a hand-to-hand conflict.

Returning to their men, the chiefs called for volunteers. A quick response, and the chosen ones rode to the central ground, dismounted, and consigned their ponies to the waiting assistants, to be led back to the lines. There was a moment of hesitation—of suspense to the spectators. The warriors regarded one another with looks of astonishment and recognition. Then La-ma-to-the, the Shawnee, spoke:

"Know you not, Pawnee, that we have met, far back in the past, the past that appears to us now as the distant mountains when wrapped in smoke from heaven's pipe of peace?"

"Yes," replied the other, "I remember the blue sky and the broad prairie, covered with sweet grasses, where the rest of our kind fed quietly, or, scenting danger, galloped wildly from place to place."

"Pawnee, we were bison, then (Puk-wah-chee-m'-tho-tho), belonging to the same herd and following the same leader. Let us go back to our people and tell them we were brothers in the other world."

They separated, and the war chiefs, understanding well, looked upward, in reverence to the Great Being who had transformed them all in the time long ago, then returned in silence to their villages.

Many Shawnees and Pottawatomies claim that they are of the lost tribes of Israel. Certain customs that have descended to them from time immemorial, seem to bear out this theory. Their Holy of Holies corresponds to the Ark of the Covenant, of the Israelites. Its contents were known only to its possessor, and, under penalty of death, all others, except the medicine men, were forbidden to touch the sacred relic, which was wrapped and re-wrapped with bark until it became a good-sized bundle.

The Shawnee language is a dialect of the Algonquin, which possesses all the vowel sounds. The letters f, r, and v are wanting. X is also wanting in all Algonquin languages except the Delaware and Mohican. There is a strong affinity between the Shawnee and the Mohican dialects. Verbs are full and varied in their inflections. The meanings of whole words are concentrated upon a few syllables or upon a single letter. The prefix tah, indicates futurity. Everything is considered as divided into two classes—animate and inanimate. Terminations change accordingly. Divested of their appendages, words become monosyllables. The syllable e-bun is added to the name of one deceased. This is equivalent to the words "has been" and is a delicate way of indicating a person's demise. For instance, Tecumseh, after death, becomes Tecumseh-e-bun or "Has Been Tecumseh."

A wealthy trader who married the descendant of a French officer stationed in Canada during Colonial days and the daughter of a chief of the Chippewas, passed through many strange experiences while sojourning among the Shawnees.

One moonlight night, riding from Westport, now a part of Kansas City, to Uniontown, on the present site of Valencia, he left the beaten road and took a short cut for home over a seldom used Indian trail. A ghostly stillness prevailed, which was broken, ere he had proceeded far, by a series of blood-curdling groans, sometimes clear and distinct, sometimes like the rushing of the wind, but always seeming to follow in his wake. Drawing a revolver and wheeling to confront the enemy, he found only empty air—while the pale moon still shone serenely down upon the unbroken prairie. Again the terrible sounds became audible; and the horse was urged to its highest rate of speed without avail. A sensation of horror creeping over him, the pioneer turned into a path leading to an Indian hut—the noise sweeping by like the breath of a cyclone—and inquired the cause. His host, well versed in explanations of the medicine men, replied:

"Had you remained upon that trail, the route of a rambling night spirit, you would have surely died before the break of day."

Doubtless these interpretations often served to cover murderous designs.

On another occasion he was urged by a friendly Indian, a member of a secret society, not to undertake his usual journey, as, at a gulley south of Martin's Hill, danger lay in wait. True enough, at that place a large gray wolf sprang out and made a fierce lunge, inflicting deep wounds upon the horse. The traveler fired but missed the animal. Again and again the ferocious creature jumped at him, each time failing to reach the man and burying its teeth in the horse. After a furious conflict, in which the rider succeeded in beating back the wolf with the butt of his pistol, he urged forward the wounded steed and was enabled to outrun his wild adversary.

A Shawnee, descended from the principal characters described, is authority for the following story, of

MAUNE´, THE CHIPPEWA GIRL.

Near the city of Quebec, so long ago as the time of the French and Indian War, lived a dark-eyed girl of the Chippewa tribe, in whose sweet face bloomed a dusky beauty that distinguished her from other maidens of the nation and caused her to become an object of admiration to the gallant young officers who were struggling to maintain the supremacy of France. Had it not been for the brilliant victory of General Wolfe, and the noble sacrifices of the British and Colonial troops, there were no sad story to record, for with the advent of England came an exodus of the French soldiery from the Dominion, and crushing sorrow to Maune´, whose heart had been captured by the handsomest officer in the vicinity of their village.

She was the daughter of a great chief, renowned among his people for deeds of bravery in war, therefore, it had occasioned small surprise when the noble Colonel Beauchamie selected la petite Maune´ as his Indian bride. In time, two fine boys brought new sunshine into the rude quarters which, in those primitive days, served as home, though to the young mother, the rich furs and blankets and pretty trinkets with which she was endowed, seemed the very acme of luxury.

Life was full of sweet contentment, until, one clear, cold morning, the French looked out in astonishment upon the army of General Wolfe, drawn up in battle array. How it had ascended the steep cliffs was a mystery to those within the walls.

General Montcalm, resting his faith in superior numbers, risked a battle outside the fortifications. The heroism and patriotism of the opposing generals, their glorious death, the celebrated victory of the English with its important results, and the final expulsion of the French from that portion of the New World, are all matters of history.

Colonel Beauchamie was ordered back to France with his regiment. The question now obtruded itself, "What should be done with Maune´?" He could not present an Indian wife to friends at home, neither was he willing to leave his sons in Canada. After prolonged consultation with a few brother officers, it was quietly arranged that the children should be spirited away and placed on board a ship destined to transport the soldiers back to their native land; and the devoted woman was to be deserted.

Maune´, suspecting these designs, crept quietly behind the partition that screened the officers from view, and listened to the development of the plan. Her affectionate heart sank as she became aware of her husband's perfidy. Love, grief and determination followed in rapid succession. Sadly she stole away and prepared for flight. A canoe was stored with provisions and the sleeping children placed inside; then, with mingled feelings of affection and the hatred and resolution peculiar to her race, she bade farewell to home, happiness, country, all that made life dear, except the slumbering babes. For their sakes she would struggle through the wilderness to a more favored land. Where, she knew not. The Great Spirit would guide and protect her; and the blood of fierce warriors, which flowed in the veins of this child of Nature, gave strength and courage in the hour of need.

Up the river she proceeded, keeping close to shore; when at a safe distance from pursuit, landing for rest and for the purpose of adding to their scant amount of provisions. From the river into the lakes, slowly, cautiously, Maune´ made her way, passing through untold hardships, always caring tenderly for the dependent little ones. Cold, hunger, wild beasts and the fierce storms of the Northern lakes were alike disregarded; and at last, long after English rule had been firmly established in Canada, and Quebec and Montreal converted into British headquarters; after the cruel conquerors had banished the simple Acadians from their land—Maune´, weak, emaciated and fainting with starvation, was found by a wandering party of Shawnees, upon the Illinois shore.

By almost superhuman efforts, the heroic woman had preserved her children; and the hardships of the journey had produced no serious effects upon their sturdy constitutions. Adopted into the tribe, she found a habitation with the friendly Shawnees.

Though the image of her pale-faced husband was never erased entirely from the heart of the faithful Chippewa, and a lingering sadness and silence kept her in partial isolation, she lived many years in quiet and saw her sons, as they grew to manhood, regarded as the boldest and most successful of the tribe, in times of peace and war.

Advancing age brought with it the suspicion of witchcraft. Maune´ was of a strange nation; and her adherence to unknown customs aroused fear in the breasts of the ignorant Shawnees. Finally, the leading medicine man decreed that she must die. Her sons were powerless to resist the tide of superstition.

A bundle of sticks was produced, and the unfortunate creature tied to a stake. Then the horrible torture commenced. Frantic Indians, chanting their weird melodies, danced round the fire, as it slowly consumed the ill-fated Chippewa. Not a sound of terror or of anguish escaped the woman in this moment of exquisite suffering. At last, a merciful breath of flame severed the thread of life, and all that remained of the bright little maiden, who had been the idol of her brave Canadian people, was a disfigured mass of charred flesh and bones.

Surely the Great Spirit whom she worshipped, and the tender Mother of Christ, whom the Jesuits had taught her to implore, looked down in pitying love, and recompensed, in the Spirit Land, this child of misfortune—Maune´ la misérable.

Tragedies were every-day occurrences among the natives, in those days, and there were times when fanaticism swept all before it; but that the great men of the Indians were not unworthy of the admiration and respect of their enemies, is shown in

A FRAGMENT OF HISTORY FROM THE WAR OF THE RACES.

On a picturesque cliff overlooking the Mad River, in what is now the State of Ohio, was located, more than a century ago, the Indian village of the Piqua Shawnees.

The settlement was prosperous and fully two hundred acres of land were in cultivation. A log fort, surrounded with pickets, had been built, and the Shawnees were prepared for defense in the event of an attempt to capture the town.

This beautiful spot was the birth-place of the famous Tecumseh—Shooting Star—the most illustrious Indian that ever battled for the rights of his people. Eloquent, powerful in mind and body, and possessing the soul of a hero, the patriotic chief was, at the opening of the nineteenth century, deep in plans for the advancement of his race. Is it a matter of surprise that he should oppose, with ceaseless energy, the encroachment of the white man? That his talents should be unsparingly used in the hopeless endeavor to stay the westward progress of civilization? He had seen the red man repeatedly deprived of land, under almost compulsory treaties with the Government. His independent spirit rebelled against the authority of the pale-face; and the circumstances of his father's death, during the troublous times when the celebrated Cornstalk waged war, had made a lasting impression.