To a man who had stood before grim Sitting Bull and noble Black Thunder of the Sioux, and faced the falcon-eyed Geronimo, and glanced over the sights of a rifle at gorgeous-feathered, wild, free Comanches, this semi-circle of savages--lords of the north--was a sorry comparison.
Bedaubed and betrinketed, slouchy and slovenly, these low-statured chiefs belied in appearance their scorn-bright eyes and lofty mien.
They made a sad group.
One who spoke in unintelligible language, rolled out a haughty, sonorous voice over the listening multitude.

When he had finished, a half-breed interpreter, in the dress of a white man, spoke at a signal from the commandant.
"He says listen to the great orator of the Chippewayan.

He has summoned all the chiefs of the tribes south of Great Slave Lake.

He has held council.

The cunning of the pale-face, who comes to take the musk-oxen, is well known.