But Captain de Leyba, incredulous, raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Por Dios," he cried, "whoever hear of one man and fifty militia subduing
the northern tribes without a piastre?"

After a while the Colonel called me in, and sent me speeding across the
little river with a note to a certain Mr. Brady, whose house was not far
away. Like many another citizen of Cahokia, Mr. Brady was terror-ridden.
A party of young Puan bucks had decreed it to be their pleasure to encamp
in Mr. Brady's yard, to peer through the shutters into Mr. Brady's house,
to enjoy themselves by annoying Mr. Brady's family and others as much as
possible. During the Indian occupation of Cahokia this band had gained a
well-deserved reputation for mischief; and chief among them was the North
Wind himself, whom I had done the honor to kick in the stomach. To-night
they had made a fire in this Mr. Brady's flower-garden, over which they
were cooking venison steaks. And, as I reached the door, the North Wind
spied me, grinned, rubbed his stomach, made a false dash at me that
frightened me out of my wits, and finally went through the pantomime of
scalping me. I stood looking at him with my legs apart, for the son of
the Great Chief must not run away. And I marked that the North Wind had
two great ornamental daubs like shutter-fastenings painted on his cheeks.
I sniffed preparation, too, on his followers, and I was sure they were
getting ready for some new deviltry. I handed the note to Mr. Brady
through the crack of the door that he vouchsafed to me, and when he had
slammed and bolted me out, I ran into the street and stood for some time
behind the trunk of a big hickory, watching the followers of the North
Wind. Some were painting themselves, others cleaning their rifles and
sharpening their scalping knives. All jabbered unceasingly. Now and
again a silent brave passed, paused a moment to survey them gravely,