when Mahto-Tatonka entered it alone, and approaching the dwelling of his enemy, called on him in a loud voice to come out, if he were a man, and fight.  Smoke would not move.  At this, Mahto-Tatonka proclaimed him a coward and an old woman, and striding close to the entrance of the lodge, stabbed the chief’s best horse, which was picketed there.  Smoke was daunted, and even this insult failed to call him forth.  Mahto-Tatonka moved haughtily away; all made way for him, but his hour of reckoning was near.

One hot day, five or six years ago, numerous lodges of Smoke’s kinsmen were gathered around some of the Fur Company’s men, who were trading in various articles with them, whisky among the rest.  Mahto-Tatonka was also there with a few of his people.  As he lay in his own lodge, a fray arose between his adherents and the kinsmen of his enemy.  The war-whoop was raised, bullets and arrows began to fly, and the camp was in confusion.  The chief sprang up, and rushing in a fury from the lodge shouted to the combatants on both sides to cease.  Instantly—­for the attack was preconcerted—­came the reports of two or three guns, and the twanging of a dozen bows, and the savage hero, mortally wounded, pitched forward headlong to the ground.  Rouleau was present, and told me the particulars.  The tumult became general, and was not quelled until several had fallen on both sides.  When we were in the country the feud between the two families was still rankling, and not likely soon to cease.

Thus died Mahto-Tatonka, but he left behind him a goodly army of descendants, to perpetuate his renown and avenge his fate.  Besides daughters he had thirty sons, a number which need not stagger the credulity of those who are best acquainted with Indian usages and practices.  We saw many of them, all marked by the same dark complexion and the same peculiar cast of features.  Of these our visitor, young Mahto-Tatonka, was the eldest, and some reported him as likely to succeed to his father’s honors.  Though he appeared not more than twenty-one years old, he had oftener struck the enemy, and stolen more horses and more squaws than any young man in the village.  We of the civilized world are not apt to attach much credit to the latter species of exploits; but horse-stealing is well known as an avenue to distinction on the prairies, and the other kind of depredation is esteemed equally meritorious.  Not that the act can confer fame from its own intrinsic merits.  Any one can steal a squaw, and if he chooses afterward to make an adequate present to her rightful proprietor, the easy husband for the most part rests content, his vengeance falls asleep, and all danger from that quarter is averted.  Yet this is esteemed but a pitiful and mean-spirited transaction.  The danger is averted, but the glory of the achievement also is lost.  Mahto-Tatonka proceeded after a more gallant and dashing fashion.  Out of several dozen squaws whom he had stolen, he could boast that he had never paid for one, but snapping