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Excerpt: A hatchet of stone, cumbersome and crude, but a dangerous weapon once, though now it is only a silent memento of the days of Captain Pipe, of Lone-Elk, of Fishing Bird, the scowling Big Buffalo and the graceful, pretty Gentle Maiden as well, lies on my table as I write. Of Captain Pipe, Big Buffalo and certain of the others, I have already told you something;-but you have yet to hear of Lone-Elk, the Seneca,-Lone-Elk, the outcast from the villages of his people,-bold and strong yet crafty, deceitful, treacherous,-and still, withal as ambitious and as vain an Indian as ever trod the long-ago forest fastnesses. It is of Lone-Elk that I am to tell you now. What part this tomahawk, which lies upon my table, had in the story may later be revealed to you, but as for that, it is not of great soon to feel the awful force of his evil power, calmly fished from their canoe at the opposite side of the water.