When Elkswatawa assumed to himself the character of a Prophet, and announced that he was commissioned by the Most High to preach the word to the red men, to change their condition, increase their possessions, and make them sole masters of the land, Leather-lips denounced him as an impostor, and urged the Indians not to place full credence in his promises. He had been silently watching the character of the Prophet while he was struggling for power, and spared no endeavour to thwart his views. He was acquainted with the executions which had already taken place on account of pretended witchcraft, and when he heard the shouts of the band which was hurrying on, and saw their numbers, he knew but too well, the pack which was unkennelled against him. But hark! they are rushing on, and first among the foremost, comes his brother. They arrive, they seize, and prepare to bind him. “No,” cries he, “let me be free, I know your purpose, and am ready to obey.” “Haste then;” cried Elkswatawa, “witch, we thirst for blood.” “Witch!” repeated Leather-lips, and he looked him in the face, and entered his wigwam. Then returning to the door he addressed the crowd, and begged them to spare his life. His entreaty was answered with scorn, and they cried for blood. All hope was now gone, and he re-entered his wigwam, to prepare for his fate, while his executioners commenced digging his grave at the sill of his door. Having dressed himself in his best war clothes, and partaken of a hasty meal of venison, he came out from his cabin calm and dignified, and knelt upon the brink of his grave. His executioners then stepped forward, one of whom was his own brother, and kneeling before him, prayed to the Great Spirit in his behalf. The Indians were all silent, and the prayers being over, they withdrew to a short distance, and seated themselves on the ground. Leather-lips then bent over his grave, rested his face upon his hands and his hands upon his knees. The executioners stepped forward, performed their duty, and the body of Leather-lips rolled into its grave. The Indians then huddled around it, and Elkswatawa calling the attention of the two whites, pointed to the body. “See,” said he, as the chest still heaved, “see how hard he dies; he is a witch, he is a witch.” All were satisfied, and they shovelled the fresh earth over the dying Leather-lips, and left to his last sleep, one who, an hour before, was cultivating his little field. APPENDIX. NOTE A.—_Page 25_. “Roof of the boat.” This seems an awkward expression, yet there is no other word which will convey the idea. The flat boats of the west are in shape parallelograms; they have but a single story, and closely boarded over, form a flat roof upon which in good weather emigrants lounge or walk about for exercise. NOTE B.—_Page 56_.