A sudden cloud of anger darkened the Indian's face.
"No!" he cried aloud.

"My children--my squaw and my people go hungry--go cold in winter--no skin--no meat." "My brother knows--" replied Cameron with patient firmness--"You translate this, Jerry"-- and Jerry proceeded to translate with eloquence and force--"the Government never refuse you meat.

Last winter your people would have starved but for the Government." "No," cried the Indian again in harsh quick reply, the rage in his face growing deeper, "my children cry--Indian cannot sleep--my white brother's ears are closed.

He hear only the wind--the storm--he sound sleep.

For me no sleep--my children cry too loud." "My brother knows," replied Cameron, "that the Government is far away, that it takes a long time for answer to come back to the Indian cry.
But the answer came and the Indian received flour and bacon and tea and sugar, and this winter will receive them again.