University of Virginia Library

2. PART II.

M. Provencal arrived at the lake a short time
after Pinchon, and passing his house without stopping,
proceeded to the mouth of the river St
Croix, where he intended to winter. Here he
stationed himself, doing Pinchon all the damage
he could; visiting the camps where his debtors
were hunting, and trying his best to persuade them
to dishonesty, in which he was frequently successful.
Pinchon retaliated in kind, and these
worthies used their liquor freely to corrupt the
Indians; both well knowing that they might be
bribed to any act of knavery or outrage, by such
means. This is the real operation of alcohol, in
its various forms, upon the remote tribes; they
do not get enough to do them any physical injury,
but in the way it is used, it weakens or destroys
the moral principle in their breasts.

As it happened, it was so used by M. Provencal,
as to render Pinchon very unpopular with the
Sioux. One of his debtors had been seduced

to defraud him, and sell the produce of his
chase of Provencal. In an evil hour for the unhappy
savage, he went to the house of his injured
creditor, arrayed in all his ill gotten finery. Pinchon
had heard of his behavior, and when he appeared
before him in a new white blanket, with
scarlet leggins, and his ears stretched with the
weight of their silver ornaments, the Frenchman
could scarce suppress his wrath. He however
curbed his temper long enough to ask the Indian
what he had done with the produce of his hunt.

`I had so few furs,' he replied, `that I was
ashamed to bring them to you; I therefore sold
them to the Wopayton (trader) up the river.'

`You are a dog,' said Pinchon. `You are
worse than a dog. The blanket you have on, belongs
to me, and so does everything about you.
You bought them with my beaver. I care not for
the value, as you shall presently see; but I will
not be so treated.' So speaking, he tore the
blanket from his back, and cast it into the fire,
holding it down with his foot, till it was utterly
spoiled. The savage saw it consume with a smile
of bitter contempt, and said, `the Frenchman
loved his goods too well; his heart was hurt by
little things.' Had he held his peace, it had been
better for him; for Pinchon, enraged at his coolness,
seized him with the grasp of a giant, and
wresting from him the knife he had drawn to defend
himself, cut off both his ears with it, close to
his head, ear-rings and all. Holding the silver
up before his eyes, he upbraided him with his
knavery, and then sent them after the blanket.

When he had in some degree assuaged his choler,
he thrust the man, to whom he had shown
so little mercy, out of doors, with insult and violence.

Le Duc, who, ruffian as he was, was of milder
mood than his principal, blamed Pinchon for this
outrage in no measured terms. He told him, that
he should not be surprised if he should lose all the
debts due him, in consequence. He replied, that
he cared not; he would never submit to insult,
even if he lost his life, as well as his goods, for
resenting it.

The next day, the band among whom he had
trusted his goods, arrived in their canoes, and encamped
beside his house. They were, most of
them, related to the sufferer of the day before.
He presented himself in their lodges, and related
how he had been treated; declaring that he would
kill Pinchon the first opportunity. The ideas of
the aborigines concerning property are not very
strict, and they were moved with indignation that
one man should have the heart to mutilate and
disgrace another, for the paltry consideration of a
few beaver skins. They attributed the conduct
of Pinchon to avarice, and grief at losing his merchandize.
With one accord they determined not
to pay him. They were resolved, furthermore,
to get what they could from him, and then leave
him to bite his nails. Such is Indian revenge;
seldom, unless in extreme cases, visited on the
person of the offender, but commonly on his property.
On this occasion, had Pinchon been possessed
of a horse, or a dog, it would have been

shot. They would have destroyed his boat, but
that they were sure from his weak heart, or in
other words, his violent temper, it would cost whoever
should attempt it his life.

It is, or it was, customary for Indian traders to
give the savages a small quantity of liquor, when
they came to pay their debts. The savages, on
the present occasion, thronged about the house of
Pinchon, and requested the performance of what
they considered a duty on his part. He gave
them each a dram, and promised more, when the
furs should be delivered. They insisted on having
it then, and he refused as positively. Finally,
after much vain importunity, they went off, declaring
they would pay him nothing; no, not so
much as the skin of a muskrat.

`A pretty mess of pottage you have cooked for
your own table!' said Le Duc. `You will lose
the whole outfit, and it will never do for us to go
back to Macinac. If you had let that fellow's
ears alone, you might have filled the boat with
beaver. Now, all is lost.'

`Be not troubled, Joe. I will punish the villains
for their insolence, and fill the boat to your
satisfaction besides.'

`Despardieux! talk not of violence, or punishment.
We have had enough of that already. It
is doubtful if we escape with our lives. Do not
make matters worse.'

`You are a fool, Joe. Let me alone, and I
will set matters right.'

Confiding in the fear with which his courage
and great strength had inspired the Indians, he

took an axe, and going to the beach, demolished
every one of their canoes, so that it was impossible
for them to depart as they had threatened.
Had this been attempted by another, death would
have been the consequence. As it was, the women
cried, `ishtah! eenah, enah, eenomah!' and
the men looked on, declaring that the Great Spirit
had made him mad, but no one offered to interfere.
This object effected, he returned to the
house.

The morning before, he had killed a deer, and
the carcass still hung entire in his store room.
He pulled it down, and cut the flesh into small
pieces, which he put into a large kettle and hung
over the fire. When the meat was cooked, he
emptied it into a great wooden bowl, and ordered
all his people to quit the house. They obeyed
without question, for they saw that his mood was
dangerous. He then enveloped himself in a buffalo
robe, and sallied forth, holding the bowl over
his head.

He bent his steps toward the encampment,
passed through it, and turned back, calling the
dogs as he went along. Some three or four bundred
of these animals, attracted by his cries, and
the smell of the venison, followed him. The savages
left the feast untouched, and came out of
their lodges to look upon him. They spoke to
him, asking what he was about, but he deigned
no answer. They now believed him mad in earnest,
and the looks of anger and hate which had
been bent on him a few minutes before, changed
to respect and admiration. (2) He proceeded to

the house, entered it, and when all the dogs had
followed him in, shut the door upon himself and
them. Then he scattered the meat among the
animals, and sitting down, covered his whole person
with the buffalo robe. The dogs, as he had
expected, fell to fighting. The walls shook with
the noise. Growling, snarling, and cries of pain
mingled together, and the roof seemed about to
escape from the hubbub.

If the Dahcotahs had been astonished at first,
they were now still more so. They demanded
the reasons of his conduct of Le Duc and the
men, but they could give no information. One of
the elders went to the door and cried with a loud
voice, `What are you doing, Tahkoo Kokeepishnay?
(he who fears nothing.) Are you mad, or
what is the meaning of all this?'

This was precisely the question he had wished
to elicit. He replied, `Go away, and leave me
quiet. I am onsheekah, and you have made me
so. You have been feasting with your comrades,
and shall I not do the same with mine? I am a
dog, and with dogs will I abide.'

This was touching them in the most sensitive
point. Without stooping to entreaty, he had made
it incumbent on them to pay him immediately.
He had put himself below them in the scale of
being. He had declared himself on a level with
dogs; and was it for them to afflict or injure so
wretched a being? No; they ran to the lodges,
and all; men, women, and children, joining in the
work, they brought their furs, and piled them up
before his door. When they had finished, he

came out and liberated their dogs. He was immediately
carried to the camp and feasted, and
the hand of friendship was tendered to him.

`What do you think of it now, Joe?' said he,
as he returned from the camp.

`Think? I scarcely know what to think,' replied
Le Duc. `I think that you are the devil, or that
he helps you.'

`I told you I would load the boat, and punish
them!'

`You have done both. Let me look at you
again. Nomme de Dieu! who would have thought
of such a thing? I never should, I am sure.'

The boat was laden, and rowed away, before
the dispositions of the Indians had time to change.
When it arrived at Michilimacinac, it was acknowledged
by all, that such a cargo of furs had
not been brought thither for years. He went and
confessed to M. Badin, obtained absolution, and
M. La Salle gave him another outfit.

The insults he supposed he had received from
the Sioux, rankled in his mind, which retained its
impressions like brass. He therefore resolved to
be revenged on them, and to that effect ascended
the Sault de St Marie, and coasted the south
shore of Lake Superior, to Burnt Wood River,
where he set up his Ebenezer for the season, and
took a wife of the daughters of the Chippeway
tribe, as did his friend and comrade, Le Duc.
He gave out his goods on credit, as usual, and sat
down to enjoy himself.

Shortly after, Wawbiskah, (The White) who
had lost a son by the hands of the Nahtooessies, [67]

stung with the desire of revenge, blacked his face,
and caused a temporary lodge to be erected in
the midst of his camp. Having communicated
his intentions to Pinchon, that good Catholic
cheerfully gave him a yard of scarlet to hang up
in the midst, and informed the chief that he intended
to consider himself a Chippeway for the
time being, for which he obtained much applause.
Wawbiskah then entered the lodge, and having
cut some tobacco, filled his pipe and smoked.

The Frenchman, being first instructed by Le
Duc how to behave, followed Wawbiskah into the
lodge. He drew the scarlet through his left hand,
sat down, and smoked some of the tobacco already
prepared. Others, Chippeways, followed his example,
and they began to tell their dreams to
each other. Wawbiskah had dreamed that he
had shot a deer, and when he approached the carcass,
it proved to be that of a Siou. The dreams
of all the party were favorable to the projected
enterprise. Pinchon declared that he had dreamed
of driving the whole Siou tribe into an enclosure,
and destroying them like rats in a trap. As
a reward for his visions, Wawbiskah said no
person was so fitting as him to carry the great
medicine bag. [68] This was a sack, filled with
feathers, bones, skins of rattle-snakes, &c. Then
the whole party, twentythree in number, repaired
to Wawbiskah's lodge, where a feast of dog's
flesh was provided. After the animal was demolished,
a kind of kettle drum was beaten by
the chief, who accompanied the music with his

voice, the whole party joining in chorus. The
words of the song might be something like this:

`Master of Life! look down on thy children,
who have suffered wrong at the hands of the Natooessies,
and are now about to avenge it.

`Master of Life! prosper our enterprise; let
us not be seen by the enemy, and defend us from
evil spirits.

`Master of Breath! return us safe to our wives
and children, that they may eat venison and fat
bear's meat, and let us take many scalps.'

The partizan then rose, and standing erect in
the midst, drew his blanket around him with great
dignity, and addressed his intended followers with
emphasis and energy. `They were now,' he said,
`to set their feet on the enemies' territory. The
Great Spirit had approved their enterprise, and
had promised to deliver their foes an easy prey
into their hands, even as a salmon trout into the
hands of the fisher. They were to slay the Natooessies,
or lead them captive, and compel them
to hew wood and draw water. If there were any
present who would not believe the express words
of the Almighty, now was the time for them to
recede. He wished no such company. The
Great Spirit had granted them an unusual favor,
in giving them a white man to assist their councils
with his wisdom; and to him an important
trust was confided. Wherefore, he exhorted them
to fear no evil, but to go on in full confidence of
success.' At the conclusion of each period, a
unanimous guttural sound of applause ensued, and
at the conclusion, they all cried, `That is it. That

is right.' In the morning of the morrow, they set
forth, in Indian file, Wawbiskah taking the lead.
For the first three days, they travelled without
much precaution, conversing by day, and sleeping
by fires at night. Their provision for the journey
was parched corn, and maple sugar, and such
small game as they could strike with arrows.
This was not much, for the use of these weapons
had already fallen into desuetade among the
Chippeways. Pinchon, painted and accoutred
like an Indian, carried the great medicine bag,
parting with it neither by night nor day. Not that
he attached any importance to its presence or
preservation, but he knew that if any accident
befel it, the whole party would turn back.

On the fifth day, they entered the frontier of
the Siou hunting grounds. All idle conversation
was prohibited; the chief marched several furlongs
ahead, observing the way before him. Towards
night, they fell in with a track in the snow,
and instantly stopped, smoked, and consulted. It
was agreed by all to go no farther, and they slept
in a small thicket, without a fire.

In the morning, two declared that they had
dreamed unfavorable dreams, and were resolved
to return. Their sentiments excited neither surprise
nor remark. They departed on their way
homeward, and the rest proceeded. Following
the track seen the preceding evening, it brought
them to the river St Croix, and they fell upon
a broad trail, which, by indications well known to
all Indians, they ascertained to have been made
by the passage of two lodges of Sioux. They

perceived in the snow the tracks of four men, and
thirteen women and children, the usual proportion
of hunters to the helpless classes of aboriginal population.

Scouts now went ahead and surveyed the route.
The party moved with the utmost caution, making
slow progress. Thus they went on two days.
Late in the second afternoon, Wawbiskah came
back at full speed, and announced to the main
body, that he heard the enemy's drums at a distance.
In fact, the Sioux had made a good hunt,
and were now holding a feast, which was destined
to be fatal to them, as it had hindered them from
going abroad and discovering their enemies.

As the aborigines take no measure without
smoking, the Chippeways stopped, and lit their
pipes. Their measures were carefully debated.
Pinchon gave his voice for moving on, and attacking
immediately; but this was a degree of temerity
his companions did not approve. They might
lose two or three men by adopting his counsel.
He was overruled by the advice of Wawbiskah,
who said it was better to remain where they were
till nightfall, and then to approach, and attack just
before daybreak.

When the shades fell, the moon shone forth in
unclouded brightness, and the Chippeways slowly
and cautiously approached the Siou camp. Towards
midnight, the sky became overclouded, and
the chief proposed, in whispers, that some one
should reconnoitre the enemy, and ascertain how,
and where, the men lay, that the first volley might
be conclusive. None of the Indians appearing

willing to undertake this service, Pinchon volunteered
to perform it. Availing himself of the cover
of the trees, he advanced upon his slumbering
victims, and when within hearing, he threw himself
on all fours, encumbered as he was with the
medicine bag, and crept onward, as the setting-dog
steals upon the partridge. He heard no voices,
yet he crawled round the lodges, till he was
satisfied that all were fast in their last sleep. He
was mistaken, however. Just as he rose to depart,
he heard some one stir, and a man came
out, and stood before him. While he was hastily
revolving in his mind the means to escape without
giving the alarm, the Siou spoke. `Where
are you going?' said he. `Are you on the same
errand as myself?'

`The moment he spoke, Pinchon discovered,
by the tone of his voice, that he was the identical
Dahcotah whose ears he had cut off the preceding
spring. The question was answered with a
stab, which reached the heart. The Siou fell,
without a groan, into a snowdrift, which received
him without betraying his fall. The white savage
took off his scalp, and rejoined his congenial comrades.

When the first approaches of daylight were
seen in the east, the Chippeways approached the
lodges, with such caution that they were not discovered.
Lying prostrate, they levelled their
guns parallel with the earth, and discharged a volley,
which killed and wounded half the inmates,
the three men among the others. Then, rising to
their feet, the valley echoed with the terrific notes

of the war-whoop. The lodges were instantaneously
prostrated, and their shrieking tenants discovered.

By right of having taken the first scalp, our
hero [69] led the van of the party on its return, and
entered the camp at its head. Le Duc had so
managed the trade in his absence, that his interest
had not suffered, and the result of his conduct was
to his temporal advantage.

Shortly after, the savages removed from the
vicinity of his house, leaving but three lodges. It
so chanced that the Dahcotahs soon learned the
damage they had sustained, and resolved to retaliate.
A party of seventeen took the war path,
and after a journey that we need not describe,
arrived at the Burnt Wood River, where they fell
upon tracks leading to Pinchon's house. While
preparing for the attack, a Chippeway, who had
been benighted in the chase, discovered them, as
he returned. He threw down the deer he carried
on his back, and gave the alarm. The Indians
rose, as well as their trader and his interpreter.
The Dahcotahs, burning with rage at the
death of their kindred, (for they were all of the
same family) and seeing that the Chippeways only
counted five men, attacked instantly. The latter,
posted behind the trees, and seconded by their
white allies, maintained the combat resolutely,
while their women loaded their canoes, in order
to cross the river. The battle was, like most other
Indian battles, conducted with too much circumspection

to be very bloody. Yet ere morning
broke, five of the assailants, and one of the Chippeways,
had fallen. Two more were wounded,
as were Le Duc and Pinchon. When the light
increased, so that the features of the contending
parties were visible to each other, the Sioux discovered
that our two friends were among their
enemies. Their anger was extreme. These men
had eaten their bread, married among them, and
had children in their lodges. They renewed the
conflict with redoubled fury, pressing on at all
points. By this time, the helpless, the aged, and
the five voyageurs of the establishment, were out
of danger. The Indians prepared to follow, in
the single canoe they had left behind, and
entreated the whites to accompany them. Pinchon,
now in his element, positively refused to
leave his house to be plundered and burned, and
for once, Le Duc agreed with him. They covered
the retreat of the red men, and then darted
into the building.

The Dahcotahs, thinking that their prey was
now in their hands, rushed towards the house,
with loud shouts, but were taught more caution by
seeing two guns flash through a crevice, and two
more of their number drop. They took to the trees
again, and fired at the door and windows. As no second
report came from within, they concluded that
the ammunition of the defenders was exhausted, and
they were confirmed in this view of the matter, by
hearing our hero sing his death song. Nevertheless,
it was but a stratagem to entice them within
reach. He knew that by keeping up a distant

fire he could do them little damage, and hoped
to decoy them into such a position that he might
destroy them all.

The Dahcotahs, encouraged at the prospect of
killing the two white men, and in some degree
revenging their slain, ventured from their covers
and mounted the roof of the house. Here they
held a short consultation. It would have been
vain to apply fire, for the roof was covered with
snow, and under that, with damp earth. The
timbers were green, and while they were trying
to ignite them, the enemy might have returned in
force. No mode of access seemed so feasible as
by the chimney. Down it, then, they resolved to
risk themselves. The voices beneath did not
seem to come from the apartment into which it
afforded a passage, and they trusted to effect the
entrance without being discovered: when once
in, they believed that their knives and tomahawks
would overcome any opposition that two men
could make, whatever their strength and courage
might be.

Cautiously, as if going into a panther's den, the
first Indian entered the chimney. When his head
was below the top, another followed, and then another.
The funnel was short, and could only contain
three.

`A fine condition we are in,' said Le Duc; `before
another week our scalps will be drying in the
smoke of a Sioux lodge.'

`Are you afraid, Joe? I thought you a braver
man,' replied Pinchon.

`I am no more afraid than yourself, but we have

not another hour to live. Hark! do you hear
them getting down the chimney? Let us fire our
guns up at them.'

`No, no, do not be in a hurry. I tell you we
shall kill them all, and winter next year on the
St Peters, with their kindred. Hear them in the
chimney? Yes, and I see them too.'

The legs of the lowermost savage were now on
the hearth. An instant longer, and he would have
been in the apartment. Rushing through the open
door, Pinchon seized him by the ancles, and held
him fast. `Quick, quick, Le Duc, bring me the
straw bed,' said he. The order was obeyed.
Stuffing the straw into the fireplace, he applied a
lighted brand. The flames ascended, and the
Indians in the chimney howled in torment. Their
cries soon ended. Stifled with smoke and flame,
and unable to extricate themselves, their blackened
bodies dropped upon the hearth, whence
they were drawn one by one by Pinchon, and
stabbed by Le Duc. Those above, when they
saw the smoke ascend, uttered appalling cries, but
did not, nevertheless, descend from the roof.

They now determined to unroof the house, and
jumping down all at once, put an end to their
hated enemies. Seldom do Indians persevere in
this manner. On the present occasion their passions
were too much excited to allow of cool reflection.
Two of the slabs which composed the
roof were easily torn off, and thrown to the
ground. As the foremost of the Dahcotahs approached,
and bent over the opening to reconnoitre
the pays bas, he received the barbed points

of a fish spear under his chin, and was jerked
down and despatched. The thing was so quickly
done, that his companions, not seeing by what
means he had disappeared, supposed he had found
the way clear, and sprang in. Another advancing,
was likewise speared, to the further edification
of the survivors. Reduced in number to five,
the party lost heart, sprung from the roof, and
made off, saying that the Frenchmen were medicine
men, against whom it would be useless to
contend.

When they were out of sight, Pinchon took his
bullet pouch and powder horn, and throwing his
gun over his shoulder, started in pursuit. Le Duc
followed his example, saying that he was now
convinced the devil took care of his own, and he
was ready to follow his bourgeois anywhere.

They followed the backward track of the Dahcotahs
at a dog trot, till night. They were both
slightly wounded, and their wounds began to
stiffen, but this did not abate their ardor. By
good luck, the moon shone bright, so that they
traced the retreating savages with ease. A little
after midnight, they saw that the trail trended to a
little coppice in the prairie. Here, if any of the
savages were awake, it was dangerous to come:
nevertheless, they reached it without being discovered.

They found the Sioux asleep, unsuspicious of
pursuit, with their guns piled against a tree.
Stealing upon them with noiseless pace, they took
away their arms, and placed them out of reach.
Then returning, they put the muzzles of their own

pieces to the sides of two of the sleepers. Pinchon
gave the signal, and at the word, two more
were added to the number of their victims. The
others jumped to their feet, and seeing their arms
gone, gave one shrill yell of despair, and fled into
the prairie. Two of them were speedily overtaken
and slain by their inveterate pursuers. The
last of the Dahcotahs was not so easily disposed
of. He had not been wounded, and refreshed by
the sleep he had taken, he held them a long chase,
though had either of them been fresh, he would
not have run far. Le Duc gave up the pursuit,
but Pinchon continued to follow, as the hound
follows the hurt deer. The savage held on his
way untired, till day, when looking round, he saw
his hunter within twenty yards of him. Finding
escape impossible, he turned and faced him.
The contest was brief. The white man received
a deep wound, but the scalp of the Dahcotah
was added to those he had already taken.

When these unrelenting ruffians reached their
house, they found their men returned, with a great
number of Indians. Great was the applause they
received, and great was the joy of the Chippeways,
that not one of the Natooessies had returned
home to tell the tale. They filled the store of
Pinchon with furs to the roof, before spring.

He returned to Michilimacinac, and found a
welcome his deeds had not deserved. He was
again trusted with an outfit, and returned to winter
with the very band he had so deeply injured,
having good care to take no one with him who

might betray him, excepting Le Duc, who was as
much implicated as himself.

One more of his exploits, for its almost incredible
temerity, we shall relate, and then make an
end of our story. When his boat arrived at the
portage of the Wisconsin, on his return to the
Sioux country, it was necessary to dry a part of
the cargo, which had been wet by a shower, the
night preceding. The canvass mentioned in a
former sketch, as used to cover Macinac boats,
was spread upon the ground to dry. While he
and his men were engaged in eating, an enormous
rattle-snake crept out of the grass, and stretched
himself in the sun upon the canvass; thinking, it
is probable, that it was placed there for his reception.
It is well known that this reptile is a generous
enemy, never doing any injury unless molested,
nor then, without giving warning. When
Pinchon and his comrade returned, they perceived
the individual in question.

Le Duc seized a stick to kill it, but Pinchon
held his arm, while the serpent regarded them
with the utmost indifference. `Joe Le Duc,' said
Pinchon, `we are called brave men. Should you
like to try which is the best entitled to the name,
of the two?'

`And how should that be tried? You do not
wish to fight with me, I hope? I have no inclination
of that kind myself: I would far rather
drink with you.'

`Nay, it can be tried without fighting. Dare you;
will you catch that snake in your bare hands?'

`Despardieux! no! I will fight the Indians

with you, as long and as often as you please, but I
will not fight such an enemy as that.'

`Well, then, it shall never be said that I feared
man or beast. If you will not catch him, I will.'

Disregarding all remonstrance, the desperado
laid himself down within a few feet of the reptile.
He moved his hand towards him as slowly as the
hand of a clock, while the snake raised his head,
and looked him steadily in the eye, without offering
to strike. When he had advanced his fingers
within six inches of the serpent, he snatched it up
by the neck, as quick as thought, and sprung upon
his feet, holding it out at arm's length! The reptile,
after a few revolutions of its tail, fixed it firmly
round the man's neck, and began to contract its
body. Though one of the strongest of men, he
felt his arm bend, in spite of all the force of his
muscles. Still his iron nerves remained firm. He
grasped his right wrist with his left hand, and resisted
with all his might; but the snake was too
strong for him; when, at last, he saw its white
fangs within six inches of his face, his courage
gave way, and he cried to Le Duc to come with
his knife. The snake was severed in two, and
Pinchon cast the part he held from him. The
animal had attained the full growth of its species,
and had thirtytwo rattles. [70]

After this exploit, which was witnessed and admired
by fifty Winnebagoes, he gained his wintering
ground among the Sioux. His thirst of
blood being insatiable, he went to war with them
against his quondam friends, the Chippeways.

Such was the tenor of his life, sometimes warring

upon one tribe, and sometimes upon another.
Many and wonderful were his adventures, those
we have related being but specimens. As a friend
to morality, we should perhaps expatiate upon the
misapplication of his great natural gifts, and trace
his enormities to the neglect to inculcate sound
principles in his mind in early youth. Yet, as no
one reads such lucubrations, and more especially,
as such subjects have been worn thread bare by
novelists and romance writers, we shall leave our
readers to draw such conclusions as seem good
to them.

The parents of this brutal desperado never had
the unhappiness to behold him again. He fell by
the hand of his trusty comrade, Joe Le Duc, at
the age of thirtythree. He had been supplanted
by this man in the affections of a squaw, and in
his cups fastened a quarrel on him. Le Duc
would have eschewed the contest which followed,
but the ire of Pinchon was not to be appeased.
Two northwest guns, and twenty yards of prairie
ground decided the matter. Joseph Le Duc stood
the fire of his principal without injury, for intoxication
had rendered Pinchon's hand unsteady.
Knowing that his opponent never forgave, he discharged
his piece with better aim, and Pinchon,
shot through the heart, bounded six feet into the
air, and fell to the earth a corpse.

What became of Le Duc is not known. The
posterity of Pinchon still flourishes among the
Dahcotahs, and have lost all traces of European
blood. The fifth in descent from our hero signed
a treaty with the late General Pike at St Peters

in the year eighteen hundred. His son is the
petty chief of the Owaw Hoskah, or Long Avenue
village. There he passes the summer with
his band, and may be seen weekly and daily, visiting
the agency to ask for `some of his father's
milk;' a harmless, worthless, drunken vagabond.
Yet he has a fund of humor that frequently amuses
the officers of the garrison, and procures him
a bottle of whiskey. Some anecdotes of him will
not, we hope, be considered out of place here.

One day, visiting Fort Snelling with his face
blackened, the commanding officer asked him the
reason why he had smeared himself in that manner.
`It is because my brother is dead,' was the
reply.

`Why, then, do you not act as we do? When
we lose a relative, we array ourselves in good
black broadcloth.'

`Father, every nation has its customs. You
are rich, and we are poor. Therefore, we show
our grief by smearing our faces with soot, and you
attire yourselves in black cloth. But as you do
not approve of my following the customs of our
ancestors, to please you I am willing to compromise.
Give me a black dress for this occasion,
and in return I will give you as much soot as shall
serve for the purposes of mourning all the days of
your life.'

At another time, coming to ask a present preparatory
to going to Rum River with his band,
the white chief asked him how that stream had
acquired such an appellation. `Is it because rum
runs there, instead of water?'

`No, father,' replied the Dahcotah, `it does
not. If it did, I would live on its banks till I had
drank it dry. You would never see me here
again.'

Colonel Snelling once proposed to this chief
and his people, in council, to give them potatoes,
seed corn, a plough, &c, and to send men to their
village to teach them how to use the implements
of husbandry, and to raise cattle and swine. `You
see,' said the officer, `that the chase is an uncertain
support, and that you are often obliged to ask
us for food, to keep you from starving. Work,
then, as we do, and you will be above the necessity
of begging.'

Pinchon said nothing till he had filled his pipe,
and exhausted its contents. Then, deliberately
knocking out the ashes, he replied:

`Father, I have been reflecting on your proposal,
as its importance deserves. What you say is
true. You speak with but one tongue. It is certain
that we are often without anything to eat. But
it strikes me, that we have no need to labor to procure
corn, or squashes, or potatoes, or cattle, or
pigs, while we have so good a father, who gives
us all these things, without any trouble on our part.'