His clothing was of tanned skin, save that he had a belt of Spanish leather, and on his feet he wore country shoes and not the Indian moccasins.

The eyes in his head were keen and youthful, and though he could not have been less than sixty he carried himself with the vigour of a man in his prime.

Below his shaggy locks was a high, broad forehead, such as some college professor might have borne who had given all his days to the philosophies.

He seemed to have been disturbed in reading, for he carried in his hand a little book with a finger marking his place.

I caught a glimpse of the title, and saw that it was Mr.Locke's new "Essay on the Human Understanding." Ringan spoke to the chief in his own tongue, but the Sioux language was beyond me.