solutely
essential to their existence, they pursue and slay them with improvident
recklessness, sometimes killing hundreds of them merely for the sake of
the sport, the tongues, and the marrow-bones. In the bloody hunt
described in the last chapter, however, the slaughter of so many was not
wanton, because the village that had to be supplied with food was large,
and, just previous to the hunt, they had been living on somewhat reduced
allowance. Even the blackbirds, shot by the brown-bodied urchins before
mentioned, had been thankfully put into the pot. Thus precarious is the
supply of food among the Red-men, who on one day are starving, and the
next are revelling in superabundance.

But to return to our story. At one end of this village the creek sprang
over a ledge of rock in a low cascade and opened out into a beautiful
lake, the bosom of which was studded with small islands. Here were
thousands of those smaller species of wild water-fowl which were either
too brave or too foolish to be scared away by the noise of the camp.
And here, too, dozens of children were sporting on the beach or paddling
about in their light bark canoes.

"Isn't it strange," remarked Dick to Henri, as they passed among the
tents towards the centre of the village, "isn't it strange that them
Injuns should be so fond o' fightin' when they've got all they can
want--a fine country, lots o' buffalo, an' as far as I can see, happy
homes?"

"Oui, it is remarkaibel, vraiment. But dey do more love war to peace.
Dey loves to be excited, I s'pose."

"Humph! One would think the hunt we seed a little agone would be
excitement enough. But, I say, that must be the chief's tent, by the
look o't."

Dick was right; the horsemen pulled up and dismounted opposite the
principal chief's tent, which was a larger and more elegant structure
than the others. Meanwhile an immense concourse of women, children, and
dogs gathered round the strangers, and, while the latter yelped their
dislike to white men, the former chattered continuously, as they
discussed the appearance of the strangers and their errand, which latter
soon became known. An end was put to this by San-it-sa-rish desiring
the hunters to enter the tent, and spreading a buffalo robe for them to
sit on. Two braves carried in their packs and then led away their
horses.

All this time Crusoe had kept as close as possible to his master's side,
feeling extremely uncomfortable in the midst of suc