it his son? He examines him attentively. He has the same garments, the same ornaments, with which he was buried. It was thus that he had painted his face at his last feast.But why this livid hue, these closed eyes, this corpselike
appearance? How has he come to this fearful desert? and
in a society a thousand times more fearful yet? For a long time Kitchechaonissi had suspected these four old men of being the cause of his sorrows. Thoughts of vengeance,
hope, doubt, were toiling in his breast. He knew not what to do; he watched all their motions and listened attentively. The one who had the drum began beating it again; the next shook his gourd rattle, the third blew the flute, while the fourth addressed the most insulting language to the young hero, boasting at the same time of the great power of their medicines, which neither he nor his brothers had been able to resist. Like a tiger, or a lioness robbed of her young ones, Kitchechaonissi felt all at once his vigor return, his blood boiled in his veins. Armed with his terrible tomahawk, he rushed into the lodge and discharged all his fury upon the terrified murderers of his children; he laid them all
dead at his feet, and they dared not try to resist him. Then he went to embrace his son, and found that he had in his arms only his stuffed skin.- This occurrence was soon known to all the village; the young man's grave was opened; his remains were not there, nor those of his brothers. Circumstances proved beyond a doubt that the old men were the poisoners, and that they had received, according to Indian customs, the just penalty of their crimes.
I have the honor to be, etc.
7 Their songs always have some bearing on their religious opinions; they often address them to Na-na-bush, or the
7 Extract from manuscript letter on the Potawatomies, dated Council Bluffs, St. Joseph Mission, August 2o, 1838.