270 WALL STREET AND THE WILDS 



away by some spirit of the past and I lived in 

 the legends I had heard and was a part of the 

 tales I had read. Leather Stocking was real to 

 me, the wise Chingachgook was in our circle, and 

 crafty Mingoes were all about us. Even Hia- 

 watha wasn't quite a dream and when at last 

 Booeyahtoyou (Iron Mountain), a great chief 

 of the Comanches, rose, slowly bared his scarred 

 breast, and lifting his hand burst into oratory, 

 I forgot that I knew little of his language, since 

 I didn't need, for I understood him. Yet the 

 words of his speech came to us, for as pauses be- 

 tween sentences were extended, Jones had time 

 to translate them to us. The speech was long 

 and the attempt to summarize it for cold type is 

 disappointing for the words will sound conven- 

 tional and the appeal at the end of the speech 

 jars upon its sentiment when read as it did not 

 do when delivered. 



"You have come from the home of the Great 

 White Father to see how we poor prairie Indians 

 live. We are few and weak with our faces 

 turned toward the setting sun. You come 



