kicked him."

"The Chief of the Long Knives will consider the offence," said Monsieur
Gratiot, and retired into the house with Colonel Clark. For a full five
minutes the Indians waited, impassive. And then Monsieur Gratiot
reappeared, alone.

"The Chief of the Long Knives is mercifully inclined to forgive," he
said. "It was in play. But there must be no more play with the Chief's
son. And the path to the Great Chief's presence must be kept clear."

Again the Hungry Wolf translated. The North Wind grunted and departed in
silence, followed by many of his friends. And indeed for a while after
that the others kept a passage clear to the gate.

As for the son of the Great White Chief, he sat for a long time that
afternoon beside the truck patch of the house. And presently he slipped
out by a byway into the street again, among the savages. His heart was
bumping in his throat, but a boyish reasoning told him that he must show
no fear. And that day he found what his Colonel had long since learned
to be true that in courage is the greater safety. The power of the Great
White Chief was such that he allowed his son to go forth alone, and
feared not for his life. Even so Clark himself walked among them, nor
looked to right or left.

Two nights Colonel Clark sat through, calling now on this man and now on
that, and conning the treaties which the English had made with the
various tribes--ay, and French and Spanish treaties too--until he knew
them all by heart. There was no haste in what he did, no uneasiness in
his manner. He listened to the advice of Monsieur Gratiot and other