“Thou speakest well,” said Tecumseh, “we must brighten our tomahawks, and the war whoop must ring. The pale faces like a mighty river are sweeping over our lands. We must make a dam to resist them, or we shall have not a hole to hide in, not a lap of earth whereon to lay our heads. They are always hungry. If you give them land to day, they want more to-morrow. They are never satisfied, but will drive us away into the big Salt Lake.” Then, pausing for a moment, he burst forth with renewed energy. “No; it shall never be. Sooner shall our streams run red with the blood of the dying, our plains grow white with the bones of the slain. Shall the children of the sun be wronged, and not seek vengeance? Yes, brother. But it shall be when the mountains fall, and rivers cease to flow.” “Shall the red men be like the beasts of the forest,” said Elkswatawa, “and seek for holes to hide in? No; let us sharpen our knives and feather our arrows, and in coming years the red men shall ask, ‘lives there a pale face?’” Tecumseh, wrapped in gloom, turned to Elkswatawa, and his face betrayed that some unwelcome thought lingered in his mind. “Knowest thou, Elkswatawa,” said he, “the numbers of the pale faces? Countless are they as the leaves of the forest.” “I know not,” replied Elkswatawa. “Hast thou counted the tribes of the red men? Call on the north, the south, and the setting sun; bid them pour forth their dusky warriors, and a cloud would arise so dark, the sun would be hid; cause it to roll on to the homes of the white men, and burst over their wigwam. Hast thou seen a whirlwind when it sweeps through the forest? It lasts but a moment, and 'tis gone; the leaves are stripped from the trees and scattered to the winds. Thou sayest the white men are like the leaves of the forest.” “Thy words are sweeter to my ears than the running of waters,” said Tecumseh. “War shall rage, but not yet. When again we kindle the torch, and grasp the tomahawk, every red man who lives shall cry out for vengeance. The Great Spirit wishes it. What makes the power of the ‘Father of waters?’ The rills which flow from the mountain tops, and hurry to meet him, through a thousand valleys.” Elkswatawa grasped the hand of his brother. “The vision is bright,” said he. “It was the same to Pontiac, and the settlements trembled at the gathering of his warriors. He was great among the tribes. So shall be Tecumseh. The mind of Elkswatawa has long been troubled. He has slept upon the graves of the red men, and their spirits have sung to him in the winds of the night. They cried for vengeance, and said they were not happy in their hunting grounds.” “They shall have it,” said Tecumseh, “and the pale faces, like snow drifts, shall be gathered in heaps upon the plains.” “Then we agree,” said Elkswatawa. “The red men must be united. They must be all tied strongly together. They must think alike, and one spirit must lead them on to battle.”