“My brothers, I wish we knew the tribe of this great chief, who tells us to take scalps, and then tells us not to take scalps.  Then we might understand why he has told us two stories.  I believe all he says, but I should like to know why I believe it.  It is good to know why we believe things.  I have heard what my brother has said about letting this bee-hunter go to his own people, but I do not know why he believes this is best.  It is because I am a poor Injin, perhaps; and because I am called the Weasel.  I am an animal that creeps through small holes.  That is my nature.  The bison jumps through open prairies, and a horse is wanted to catch him.  It is not so with the weasel; he creeps through small holes.  But he always looks where he goes.

“The unknown chief, who belongs to no tribe, talks of this bee-hunter’s squaw.  He is afraid of so great a medicine-man, and wishes him to go, and take all in his wigwam with him.  He has no squaw.  There is a young squaw in his lodge, but she is not his squaw.  There is no need of letting her go, on his account.  If we take her scalp, he cannot hurt us.  In that, my brother is wrong.  The bees have buzzed too near his ears.  Weasels can hear, as well as other animals; and I have heard that this young squaw is not this bee-hunter’s squaw.

“If Injins are to take the scalps of all the pale-faces, why should we not begin with these who are in our hands?  When the knife is ready, and the head is ready, nothing but the hand is wanting.  Plenty of hands are ready, too; and it does not seem good to the eyes of a poor, miserable weasel, who has to creep through very small holes to catch his game, to let that game go when it is taken.  If my great brother, who has told us not to scalp this bee-hunter and her he calls his squaw, will tell us the name of his tribe, I shall be glad.  I am an ignorant Injin, and like to learn all I can; I wish to learn that.  Perhaps it will help us to understand why he gave one counsel yesterday, and another to-day.  There is a reason for it.  I wish to know what it is.”

Ungque now slowly seated himself.  He had spoken with great moderation, as to manner; and with such an air of humility as one of our own demagogues is apt to assume, when he tells the people of their virtues, and seems to lament the whole time that he, himself, was one of the meanest of the great human family.  Peter saw, at once, that he had a cunning competitor, and had a little difficulty in suppressing all exhibition of the fiery indignation he actually felt, at meeting opposition in such a quarter.  Peter was artful, and practised in all the wiles of managing men, but he submitted to use his means to attain a great end.  The virtual extinction of the white race was his object, and in order to effect it, there was little he would have hesitated to do.  Now, however, when for the first time in many years a glimmering of human feeling was shining on the darkness of his mind, he found