"You belong to Black Hawk's devils," said an officer, "and you are plotting our death. You shall be shot. Seize him!" The old Indian trembled as the men surrounded him bent on his destruction. There came toward the excited company a tall young officer. All eyes were bent upon him. He peered into the face of the old Indian. The men rushed forward to obey the officer. "Halt!" said the tall captain. "This Indian must not be killed by us." That speaker was Abraham Lincoln. The men jeered at him, but he stood between the Indian and them, like a form of iron. The Indian gave his protector a grateful look, and there dropped from his hand a passport, which in his confusion he had failed to give the officer. It was a certificate saying that he had rendered good service to the Government, and it was signed by General Cass. "Why should you wish to save him?" asked a volunteer of young Lincoln. "Your grandfather was killed by an Indian. You are a coward!" "I would do what is right by any man," said Lincoln, fiercely. "Who says I am a coward? I will meet him here in an open contest. Now, let the man who says I am a coward meet me face to face and hand to hand." He stood over the cowering Indian, dark, self-confident and defiant. "I stand for justice. Let him come on. I stand alone for right. Let him come on.--Main-Pogue, go!" Out of the camp hobbled the Indian, with the long, strong arm of Abraham Lincoln lifted over him. The eyes of the men followed him in anger, disappointment, and scorn. Hard words passed from one to the other. He felt for the first time in his life that he stood in this matter utterly alone. "Jeer on," he said. "I would shield this Indian at the cost of my life. I would not be a true soldier if I failed in my duty to this old man. In every event of life it is right that makes might; and the rights of an Indian are as sacred as those of any other man, and I would defend them, at whatever cost, as those of a white man.--Main-Pogue, go hence! Here will I stand between you and death." "Heaven bless you for protecting a poor old man! I have been a runner for the whites for many years, but I have never met a man like you. I will tell my boy of this. Your name is Lincoln?" "Yes--Abraham Lincoln, though the name matters nothing." CHAPTER XIX. THE FOREST COLLEGE. "Well, how time flies, and the clock of the year does go round! Here's the elder again! It's a bright day that brings ye here, though I shouldn't let ye sleep in the prophet's chamber, if I had one, 'cause ye ain't any prophet at all. But ye are right welcome just the same. Where is yer Indian boy?" "He's gone to his own people, Aunt Olive."