LETTER XV. 159 



into one, and condensed the lives and adventures 

 of several chiefs into a type of the race. If so, 

 forgive me, red heroes ; the stage on which I have 

 to make you dance is but a small one. 



Like all the men of his race, Tumisco was a 

 mighty hunter. Upon him his aged parents 

 might count with certainty for food and game to 

 make their old hearts glad. Never in all the 

 years did Tumisco let his parents lie down 

 hungry. The deer and the sheep died before his 

 arrows ; and even the white goat died, that its 

 horns might tip the bow of hard mountain- 

 spruce carried by the chief when, stripped to his 

 smooth red skin, he crept nearer and nearer to 

 Callomeha, the great grizzly bear, until he could 

 hear his breathing and watch the flank of the 

 monster heaving evenly in sleep. Then Tu- 

 misco's arrow flashed through the air, and 

 Callomeha died to make beds of soft fur for the 

 stranger-guests of Tumisco. It was upon the 

 mountain Chippaco, the cloud-bearer, that Tu- 

 misco had one evening slain a she-bear. It was 

 too late to return to the camp, so the chief slept 

 in the yet warm hide of his victim, his good 

 horse tethered beside him, and the bear's-meat 

 piled high between horse and man to protect it 

 from the fierce wolves of the mountain. 



Dark and grim were the mountain shadows, 



