The deliberations lasted during the whole day: for as these Indians had no particular injuries to dwell upon, they confined themselves to things in general; and as this was a subject that would bear to be expatiated upon, every man continued his address until he had exhausted his wind. The Pawnees listened with exemplary patience; though I doubt if there was one who regretted when the last speaker had finished. The morning following, the Pawnees and Konzas had a meeting to settle their difficulties. A large chamber in the garrison had been selected for the purpose. About ten o’clock in the forenoon they assembled. The two bands seated themselves upon long wooden benches, on opposites sides of the room. There was a strong contrast between them. The Konzas had a proud, noble air, and their white blankets as they hung in loose and graceful folds around them, had the effect of classic drapery. The Pawnees had no pride of dress. They were wrapped in shaggy robes, and sat in silence—wild and uncouth in their appearance, with scowling brows, and close pressed mouths. At length the speaking commenced. First rose the White Plume. He had boasted to his tribe, that he would relate such things, in his speech, as should cause the Pawnees to wince. With true Indian cunning, at first, in order that he might conciliate the favourable opinion of those present, he spoke in praise of the whites—expressing his high opinion of them. After this, he gradually edged off, into a philippic against the Pawnee nation, representing them as a mean and miserly race—perfidious, and revengeful. There was a hushed silence among his own people as he spoke, and every eye was fastened upon the grim group opposite. The White Plume went on; and still the deepest silence reigned through the room: that of the Konzas arose from apprehension: the silence of the Pawnees was the hushed brooding of fury.