He painted their past glory with lav- 

 ish brush, indulging in much wordy 

 fireworks, and then he blackened 

 their faces and called them miser- 

 ables in a dozen ways and told 

 them that they would be less than 

 nothing if they did not rise up and 

 smite the Paleface Nimrod called 

 him "a regular old fire-eater." I 

 could see the black eyes of the In- 

 dians begin to snap. Every now 

 and then there would be cries of 

 "How how!" Then when he 

 stopped, exhausted, a fine old man 

 with much dignity came out and 

 we recognised Plenty Coups, one of 

 their most honoured chiefs. He said 

 he sympathised heartily with every- 

 thing that their eloquent brother 

 had said, but that he was foolish 

 in a variety of ways for stirring up 

 the people, as it was hopeless to 

 fight the Whiteman; that the world 

 had swept beyond the Indian, it must 

 be the will of the Great Spirit that 

 they should no longer conquer, 

 and they must be patient while the 

 cloud was upon them. 



Then the Silver-tongued came out 

 again and said with many flourishes 



