No sooner, however, had Crowsfeather got through with his communication, than a general request was made that the problem of the whiskey-spring might be referred to Onoah for solution.  The young men had strong hopes, not-withstanding all that had passed, that this spring might yet turn out to be a reality.  The scent was still there, strong and fragrant, and they could not get rid of the notion that “fire-water” grew on that spot.  It is true, their faith had been somewhat disturbed by the manner in which the medicine-man had left them, and by his failure to draw forth the gushing stream which he had impliedly promised, and in a small degree performed; nevertheless little pools of whiskey had been found on the rock, and several had tasted and satisfied themselves of the quality of the liquor.  As is usual, that taste had created a desire for more, a desire that seldom slumbered on an Indian palate when strong drinks were connected with its gratification.

Peter heard the request with gravity, and consented to look into the matter with a due regard to his popularity and influence.  He had his own superstitious views, but among them there did not happen to be one which admitted the possibility of whiskey’s running in a stream from the living rock.  Still he was willing to examine the charmed spot, scent the fragrant odor, and make up his own estimate of the artifices by which the bee-hunter had been practising on the untutored beings into whose hand chance had thrown him.

While the young men eagerly pointed out the precise spots where the scent was the strongest, Peter maintained the most unmoved gravity.  He did not kneel to smell the rocks, like the other chiefs, for this an innate sense of propriety told him would be undignified; but he made his observations closely, and with a keen Indian-like attention to every little circumstance that might aid him in arriving at the truth.  All this time, great was the awe and deep the admiration of the lookers-on.  Onoah had succeeded in creating a moral power for himself among the Indians of the northwest which much exceeded that of any other red man of that region.  The whites scarcely heard of him, knew but little of his career, and less of his true character, for both were shrouded in mystery.  There is nothing remarkable in this ignorance of the pale-faces of the time.  They did not understand their own leaders; much less the leaders of the children of the openings, the prairies, and the forest.  At this hour, what is really known by the mass of the American people of the true characters of their public men?  No nation that has any claim to civilization and publicity knows less, and for several very obvious reasons.  The want of a capital in which the intelligence of the nation periodically assembles and whence a corrected public opinion on all such matters ought constantly to flow, as truth emanates from the collisions of minds, is one of these reasons.  The extent of the country, which separates men by distances that