A solemn stillness followed the sounds, and then the lips of the aged man were first seen to move.
"The day of Le Balafre is near its end," were the first words that were distinctly audible.

"He is like a buffaloe, on whom the hair will grow no longer.

He will soon be ready to leave his lodge, to go in search of another, that is far from the villages of the Siouxes; therefore, what he has to say concerns not him, but those he leaves behind him.

His words are like the fruit on the tree, ripe and fit to be given to chiefs.
"Many snows have fallen since Le Balafre has been found on the war-path.
His blood has been very hot, but it has had time to cool.

The Wahcondah gives him dreams of war no longer; he sees that it is better to live in peace.
"My brothers, one foot is turned to the happy hunting-grounds, the other will soon follow, and then an old chief will be seen looking for the prints of his father's moccasins, that he may make no mistake, but be sure to come before the Master of Life, by the same path, as so many good Indians have already travelled.