An enormous eagle's feather, torn from the
wing of a bald eagle who once attempted to carry him away,
completed his attire. It was also the memento of one of his most
superhuman feats of courage. He would undoubtedly have scalped the
eagle but that nature had anticipated him.
"Why is the Great Chief sad?" asked Mushymush, softly. "Does his
soul still yearn for the blood of the pale-faced teachers? Did not
the scalping of two professors of geology in the Yale exploring
party satisfy his warrior's heart yesterday? Has he forgotten that
Hayden and Clarence King are still to follow? Shall his own
Mushymush bring him a botanist to-morrow? Speak, for the silence
of my brother lies on my heart like the snow on the mountain, and
checks the flow of my speech."
Still the proud Boy Chief sat silent. Suddenly he said: "Hist!"
and rose to his feet. Taking a long rifle from the ground he
adjusted its sight. Exactly seven miles away on the slope of the
mountain the figure of a man was seen walking. The Boy Chief
raised the rifle to his unerring eye and fired.
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