"Warriors, listen. The moon grows. Who of you will cross the river and ride once more into the Red Man's Paradise, and give the prairies to the flames? The torch is all that is left us now." Every Indian raised his arm except Main-Pogue and Waubeno, and signified his desire to unite in the plan for the desolation of the prairies. "Main-Pogue, will you carry your torch in the night of fire?" "I have been saved by the hand of a white man, and I will not turn my hand against the white man. I could not do it if I were young. But I am old--my people are gone. Leave me to fall like the leaf." "Son of Alknomook, what will you do?" "I will follow your counsel for my father's sake, but I will spare my friends for the sake of the arm that was stretched out over the head of Main-Pogue." "Then you will go." "I would that I were dead. I would that I could live as the white teacher taught me--in peace with every one. I would that I had not this blood of fire, and this memory of darkness, and this vow upon my head. The white teacher taught me that all people were brothers. My brain burns--" Late in the evening Waubeno went to Main-Pogue and sat down by his side under the trees. The river lay before them with its green islands and rapid currents, serene and beautiful. The lights had gone out on the other shore, and the world seemed strangely voiceless and still. "How did _he_ look, Waubeno?" "Who look?" "That man who saved you--stretched his arm over you." "His arm was long. His face was as sad as an Indian's; and he was tall. He was a head taller than other men; he rose over them like an oak over the trees. The men laughed at him; then his face looked as though it was set against the people--he looked like a chief--and the men cowered, and jeered, and cowered. I can see how he looked, but I can not tell it--I can see it in my mind. I told him that I would tell Waubeno, and he seemed to know your name. Did you never meet such a man?" "Yes, in the Indiana country. He was journeyed from the Wabash." The Indians, after the council we have described, began to cross the Mississippi by night, and to make stealthy journeys into the Rock River country, once known as the Red Man's Paradise. Rock River is a beautiful stream of the prairies. It comes dashing out of a bed of rocks, and runs a distance of some two hundred miles to the Mississippi. Here once roamed the deer and came the wild cattle in herds. Here rose great cliffs, like ruins of castles, which were then, as now, cities of the swallows. Eagles built their nests upon them, and wheeled from over the flowers of the prairies. The banks in summer were lined with wild strawberries and wild sunflowers. Here and there were natural mounds and park-like woods, and oaks whose arms were tangled with grapevines.