After several moments of this painful silence, the chief with the long white hair deliberately lighted a large pipe drawn from his belt. It was curiously and grotesquely fashioned, the huge bowl carved to resemble the head of a bear. He drew from the stem a single thick volume of smoke, breathed it out into the air, and solemnly passed the pipe to the warrior seated upon his right. With slow deliberation, the symbol moved around the impassive and emotionless circle, passing from one red hand to another, until it finally came back to him who had first lighted it. Without so much as a word being uttered, he gravely offered it to Captain Heald. I heard, and understood, the quick sigh of relief with which my companion grasped it; he drew a breath of the tobacco, and I followed his example, handing back the smoking pipe to the white-haired chief without rising, amid the same impressive silence.
The Indian leader spoke for the first time, his voice deep and guttural.
"The Pottawattomies have met in council with the White Chief and the Long Knife," he said soberly, "and have smoked together the peace-pipe. For what have the white men come to disturb Gomo and his warriors?"
I gazed at him with new interest. No name of savage chief was wider known along the border in those days, none more justly feared by the settlers. He was a tall, spare, austere man, his long coarse hair whitened by years, but with no stoop in his figure. His eyes, small and keen, blazed with a strange ferocity, as I have seen those of wildcats in the dark; while his flesh was drawn so closely against his prominent cheek-bones as to leave an impression of ghastliness, as of a corpse suddenly returned by some miracle to life. With dabs of paint across the forehead, and thin lips drawn in a narrow line of cruelty, his face formed a picture to be long remembered with a shudder.
It was easy enough to see that Captain Heald felt uncertain how far to venture in his proposals, though he spoke up boldly, and with no tremor in his voice. His long frontier experience had taught him the danger that lay in exhibiting timidity in the face of Indian scorn.
"Gomo," he said firmly, "and you other Chiefs of the Pottawattomies, there has never been war between us. We have traded together for many seasons; you have eaten at my table, and I have rested by your fires. We have been as brothers, and more than once have I judged between you and those who would wrong you. I have remembered all this, and have now come into your camp through the night, without fear and unarmed, that I might talk with you as friends. Am I not right to do this? In all the time I have been the White Chief at Dearborn, have I ever done wrong to a Pottawattomie?"