I never feared a white man: why should I fear a white man's devil?
Where is the Jibbenainosay, the curse of my tribe ?--the Shawneewannaween, the howl of my people?
He kills them in the dark, he creeps upon them while they sleep; but he fears to stand before the face of a warrior! Am I a dog?
or a woman?
The squaws and the children curse me, as I go by: they say _I_ am the killer of their husbands and fathers; they tell me it was the deed of Wenonga, that brought the white man's devil to kill them; 'if Wenonga is a chief, let him kill the killer of his people!' I am Wenonga; I am a man; I fear nothing: I have sought the Jibbenainosay.

But the Jibbenainosay is a coward; he walks in the dark, he kills in the time of sleep, he fears to fight a warrior! My brother is a great medicine-man; he is a white man, and he knows how to find the white man's devils.

Let my brother speak for me; let him show me where to find the Jibbenainosay; and he shall be a great chief, and the son of a chief: Wenonga will make him his son, and he shall be a Shawnee!" "Does Wenonga, at last, feel he has brought a devil upon his people ?" said Nathan, speaking for the first time since his capture, and speaking in a way well suited to strike the interrogator with surprise.

A sneer, as it seemed, of gratified malice crept over his face, and was visible even through the coat of paint that still invested his features; and to crown all, his words were delivered in the Shawnee tongue, correctly and unhesitatingly pronounced; which was itself, or so Wenonga appeared to hold it, a proof of his superhuman acquirements.
The old chief started, as the words fell upon his ear, and looked around him in awe, as if the prisoner had already summoned a spirit to his elbow.
"I have heard the voice of the dead!" he cried.

"My brother is a great Medicine! But I am a chief;--I am not afraid." "The chief tells me lies," rejoined Nathan, who, having once unlocked his lips, seemed but little disposed to resume his former silence;--"the chief tells me lies: there is no white-devil hurts his people!" "I am an old man, and a warrior,--I speak the truth!" said the chief, with dignity; and then added, with sudden feeling,--"I am an old man: I had sons and grandsons--young warriors, and boys that would soon have blacked their faces for battle[12]--where are they?
The Jibbenainosay has been in my village, he has been in my wigwam--there are none left--the Jibbenainosay killed them!" [Footnote 12: The young warriors of many tribes are obliged to confine themselves to black paint, during their probationary campaigns.] "Ay!" exclaimed the prisoner, and his eyes shot fire as he spoke, "they fell under his hand, man and boy--there was not one of them spared--they were of the blood of Wenonga!" "Wenonga is a great chief!" cried the Indian: "he is childless; but childless he has made the Long-knife." "The Long-knife, and the son of Onas!" said Nathan.
The chief staggered back, as if struck by a blow, and stared wildly upon the prisoner.
"My brother is a medicine-man,--he knows all things!" he exclaimed.