saw two white men mingling with the crowd. Some of the Indians were quarrelling, others were shouting and singing, while several were lying in a helpless condition a short distance from the fire. Old and young were giving themselves up to this wild carousal which was making the night hideous. The white men alone seemed to be sober, and were exulting in the debauch for which they were responsible.
All this Tom noticed with disgust and burning indignation. At first he was tempted to turn away and leave the miserable creatures alone. But upon second thought he changed his mind. He needed refuge for the night, and he might be able to quell the revel, and bring the Indians to their senses. Surely the story he had to tell about the Gikhi would affect them.
As Tom stepped forward, beat off several snapping dogs, and made his way into the midst of the Indians, he was greeted with shouts of welcome. No one seemed to be surprised at the sight of the old man. Had they been sober, their curiosity would have been great. They crowded around him, offering him hootch, and when he refused to drink, they laughed and called him an old fool. Freeing himself, he entered the lodge and squatted down upon some blankets spread over fir boughs. He wanted to rest and to consider what he should do. But even here he was allowed no peace. Again and again he was urged to drink, and when each time he refused, the Indians became more insistent, and some quite angry. The white men, too, were determined in their efforts, and it was all that Tom could do to keep calm. He contrasted this wild confusion with the quiet and peaceful scene of the previous evening. What a difference, and how little chance was there for him to deliver his great message. He knew
