Here is an instance at once of Indian warrior heroism on the one side and fiendish ferocity on the other that occurred at the late engagement between a small war party of the Chippewas and a greatly superior party of Sioux, near Cedar Island Lake. The Chippewas, who were _en route_ for a scalping foray upon the Sioux villages on the Minnesota, here fell into an ambuscade, and the first notice of danger which saluted their ears was a discharge of fire-arms from a thicket. Four of their number fell dead in their tracks. Another, named the War Cloud, a leading brave, had a leg broken by a bullet. His comrades were loth to leave him, and, whilst their assailants were reloading their guns, attempted to carry him along with them to where they could gain the shelter of a thicket a short distance to the rear. But he commanded them to leave him, telling them that he would show his enemies how a Chippewa could die. [Illustration: Chippewa.] At his request they seated him on a log, with his back leaning against a tree. He then commenced painting his face and singing his death-song. As his enemies approached he only sang a louder and a livelier strain; and when several had gathered around him, flourishing their scalping-knives, and screeching forth their demoniac yells of exultation, not a look or gesture manifested that he was even aware of their presence. At lengthy they seized him and tore his scalp from his head. Still seated with his back against a large tree, they commenced shooting their arrows into the trunk around his head, grazing his ears, neck, etc., until they literally pinned him fast, without having once touched a vital part. Yet our hero remained the same imperturable stoic, continuing to chant his defiant strain, and although one of the number flourished his reeking scalp before his eyes, still not a single expression of his countenance could be observed to change. At last one of the number approached him with a tomahawk, which, after a few unheeded flourishes, he buried in the captive’s skull, who sank in death, with the war song still upon his lips. He had, indeed, succeeded well in teaching his enemies “how a Chippewa could die.” The reader has already made the acquaintance of that renowned Mandan chief Mahtotopa; here is another episode in that hero’s history: A party of 150 Scheyenne warriors had invaded the territory of the Mandans; Mahtotopa, the young but already famous warrior of whom we have spoken, went in pursuit of them at the head of fifty of the bravest of his tribe. At the end of two days he came up with them. The Mandans, inferior in number, hesitated to engage in combat, when by a sudden impulse, Mahtotopa planted his lance, ornamented with a piece of red stuff, in the ground in token of defiance. The Scheyennes who were approaching to attack the party were arrested by the sight of this courageous act, and their chief advancing alone to meet the young Mandan warrior enquired who he was who defied alone the enemy?