The first man on the list, was Ha-wan-ghee-ta, (one horn,) head chief of the nation, and after him the subordinate chief, or chiefs of bands, according to the estimation in which they were held by the chief or tribe. My models were thus placed before me, whether ugly or beautiful, all the same, and I saw at once there was to be trouble somewhere, as I could not paint them all. The medicine-men or high priests, who are esteemed by many the oracles of the nation, and the most important men in it--becoming jealous, commenced their harangues, outside of the lodge, telling them that they were all fools--that those who were painted would soon die in consequence; and that these pictures, which had life to a considerable degree in them, would live in the hands of white men after they were dead, and make them sleepless and endless trouble. Those whom I had painted, though evidently somewhat alarmed, were unwilling to acknowledge it, and those whom I had not painted, unwilling to be outdone in courage, allowed me the privilege; braving and defying the danger that they were evidently more or less in dread of. Feuds began to arise too, among some of the chiefs of the different bands, who, (not unlike some instances among the chiefs and warriors of our own country,) had looked upon their rival chiefs with unsleeping jealousy, until it had grown into disrespect and enmity. An instance of this kind presented itself at this critical juncture, in this assembly of inflammable spirits, which changed in a moment, its features, from the free and jocular garrulity of an Indian levee, to the frightful yells and agitated treads and starts of an Indian battle. I had in progress at this time, a portrait of Mah-to-tchee-ga, (little bear;) of the Onc-pa-pa band, a noble fine fellow, who was sitting before me as I was painting. I was painting almost a profile view of his face, throwing a part of it into shadow, and had it nearly finished, when an Indian by the name of Shon-ka, (the dog,) chief of the Caz-a-zshee-ta band, an ill-natured and surly man--despised by the chiefs of every other band, entered the wigwam in a sullen mood, and seated himself on the floor in front of my sitter, where he could have a full view of the picture in its operation. After sitting a while with his arms folded, and his lips stiffly arched with contempt, he sneeringly spoke thus: “Mah-to-tchee-ga is but half a man.” Dead silence ensued for a moment, and nought was in motion save the eyes of the chiefs, who were seated around the room, and darting their glances about upon each other in listless anxiety to hear the sequel that was to follow! During this interval, the eyes of Mah-to-tchee-ga had not moved--his lips became slightly curved, and he pleasantly asked in low and steady accent, “Who says that?”