I had looked for another stir at these words, but none came. Instead, there was silence—the silence of apprehension, of waiting.
"My brothers, you do not like my words, but your hearts are open. Your ears are not closed to the whisper of the Great Spirit, and you will listen. If the Mighty One was your friend and protector, would he have slain your young men? Would he not have sent them home as he has sent the other hunters, like foolish women?"
I paused again, taking full advantage of this favorite trick of Indian Oratory.
"Listen, my brothers. My Great Spirit whispers to me. He says that your Mighty One is false. He says that there is only one Great Spirit, and that He wishes you to accept the sign in the water. He says that it is for this purpose He brought me to you. He asks you whe
