None but hostile Indians were about the fort, and if the young man was unknown and killed as related, he was certainly considered an enemy. If known as the adopted son of Black Hawk, then openly fighting the Americans, it was a fair presumption that he got no permission to hunt and was considered as taken red-handed. The community inside Fort Madison was in a serious mood those days and in no condition to receive Indians with rifles on advantageous terms. Black Hawk arrived at his village filled with indignation, as he has said. He was met by the chiefs and braves and conducted to the lodge prepared for him. After eating, he gave an account of himself and his travels, crediting the Americans with some valor and marksmanship. In turn, the village chief replied that with the absence of Black Hawk and his following, they would have been unable to defend themselves had the Americans attacked them. Not only had they been unmolested, but when Quash-qua-me, the Lance and other chiefs, with their old men, women and children, descended the Mississippi to St. Louis for protection, the Americans received them with every evidence of friendship, sent them up the Missouri River and there abundantly provided for them. Black Hawk found on his return that Keokuk, during his absence, had been made principal war chief of the Sac nation, which so enraged him that I am forced to believe his attack upon that chief, which followed, was unwarranted, though he magnanimously concluded his philippic with the statement that he was satisfied. Keokuk, chief of the Sacs, who was above Black Hawk in civil affairs, had, from reasons of polity or preference, maintained close and constant relations of friendship with the Americans and had prospered in the estimation of the latter. His rising fortune created friction from the first, then envy and finally implacable hatred on the part of Black Hawk, who found himself unable to combat the influence of Keokuk, either overtly or covertly, by reason of his incapacity. Instead of meeting Keokuk on terms as nearly equal as his intellect would permit, he invariably grew angry, allowed his baser nature to master him, and left the scene vowing vengeance on the victor. Had he been able to throw off his anger after a brief season, as many impulsive men can do, he might yet have accomplished much, but a yellow streak in his nature forbade it, and, I honestly believe, impelled the man onward to ruinous decisions in spite of himself. His melancholy made him churlish and revengeful, and consequently dissatisfied, unless punishing some real or imaginary wrong.