“O yes, mother, he was such a brave man. He was chief of the Sacs and Foxes, and yet he was such a firm friend to the whites that he exerted all his influence to prevent his tribe from going to war with them. At one time when the nation had determined upon a war with the United States, he told them to burn their wigwams, kill their squaws, and then to go into the enemy’s country to conquer or to die. This speech convinced them of the folly of engaging in a war that could only terminate in their ruin, and they followed his peaceful counsels.” “And then,” asked Mrs. Lester, “how did he show his magnanimity when the people were wearied with his goodness, as the Athenians of old were at hearing Aristides called the Just?” “O yes, that was at Prairie du Chien too. They chose a young man for chief instead of the noble chief who so long had led them. He quietly took the lower place, and introduced his youthful successor to the United States agent, asking him to treat him as kindly as he had treated Keokuk. This noble conduct showed the tribe their folly, and Keokuk was soon restored to his place as their chief.” “Poor Red Bird,” said Mrs. Lester, “this spot was a fatal one to him. He was a real Indian hero; tall, lithe, and beautiful, graceful in movement, skilled in feats of agility, daring and brave.” “Why was this spot fatal to him?” asked Helen. “He was a great friend to the whites,” replied Mrs. Lester, and dealt kindly and truly with them. An Indian had been killed by a white man, and his tribe demanded scalps to atone for this murder. Red Bird was sent to obtain the scalp of the white man, but he returned, saying he could find none. Then came the cruel taunts of the revengeful savages; “Red Bird was no brave;” “he feared the pale-faces;” “he cared not to avenge the blood of one of their tribe.” “Red Bird must go again,” and this time not alone, but accompanied by cruel Indians, to watch his movements. Poor Red Bird had never met the pale-faces but with truth and kindness, and now a hundred voices clamored for their destruction; and these voices overpowered the still small voice within him. Red Bird and his two companions entered a cabin, a little below Prairie du Chien, at noon-day. It was a peaceful family group, fearing no evil. The woman was washing near the window that looked toward the river; her husband was seated by the cradle of his sleeping child, while an old soldier sat near the door. The Indians asked for something to eat, and as the woman gave them some bread and milk, she saw an expression in their faces that led her to fly from the cabin to call for help. No help could reach the ill-fated occupants of the cabin. The tomahawk of the Indians rapidly descended; Red Bird scalped the husband and father, the second Indian the soldier, while the fair hair of the infant was dangling at the belt of the third savage, as he left the cabin. “And what became of Red Bird?” asked Helen.