“Oh no,” said he, earnestly.  “I come right over from our place.”

“Walked from the reservation in this storm!” said I.  “What could have made you do such a thing?”

“Nothing—­just to see you.  Not very strange come see two nice women,” said the old gentleman, with a little complimentary bow.

The Panther was somewhat vain of his knowledge of what he called “white manners,” but I never saw a white man who could be so gently dignified, so courteous, so altogether charming in manner, as the old chief when he chose.  He hardly knew one letter from another, but he had had sixty-five years of experience in war and council.  Many a man “got up regardless of expense” in college and society might have taken lessons in deportment from this old Pottawatomie.  He had known Minny from her childhood.  Her father’s farm had been the first clearing in all that part of the country.  Deacon Adams had always been on excellent terms with the Indians, and his little daughter had found her earliest playmates among their children.  The Panther had carried Minny in his arms when she was a baby; and as his own family of boys and girls died one after another, he clung closer to the child who had been their pet as well as his own.

The Panther was one of those big, soft, easy men who seem made to be ruled by one woman or another.  He was greatly respected in his tribe, and had much influence.  When they had been a nation he had been one of their most distinguished warriors, and his word had been law.  He had always maintained toward the “young men” a somewhat imperious manner.  He had conducted himself with dignity and decision in all his visits to Washington, where he had been a great lion, and in all his dealings with the United States he had shown much wisdom and ability.  But report said that when once within the domestic circle and before his squaw, the diplomatist and warrior was exceedingly meek.  He bore his wife’s death with resignation, but he had never married again.  He loved Minny Adams better than anything on earth, and the girl had great influence over him.  She, in her turn, was very fond of him.  From her earliest years he had been her friend, confidant and admirer.  He looked so fierce and dangerous, and was so kind and simple, that the alliance between the girl and himself was very much like that between a little child and a big mastiff—­the child protected and leader, the dog protector and led.

Minny made flannel shirts for him, and he wore them:  she trimmed his moccasins, and the dainty cambric ruffles which he wore when in grand costume were got up by her hands.  The Panther, however, did not often appear in full dress.  She tried to teach him to read, and she did get him through the alphabet, but he greatly preferred hearing stories read to learning to do it for himself, and was especially fond of the Arabian Nights, which he quite believed.  She even coaxed him to go to church with her, and