LONG ago, when our cities were pleasant woodlands and the white man was far beyond the seas, the great Manito, God of all the Indians, descended to the earth. From the red crags of the Great Red Pipestone Quarry he gazed upon the country that he ruled, and a silver river gushed from his footprints and turned to gold as it met the morning sun. The Great Manito stooped to gather some of the red stone of the quarry, and molded it with giant fingers into a mighty pipe-bowl; he plucked a reed from the river bank for a pipe-stem, filled the pipe with the bark of the willow, breathed upon the forest until the great boughs chafed together into flame, and there alone upon the mountains he smoked the pipe of peace.