worse, a
dark-visaged Indian suddenly caught hold of Henri's rifle, and, ere
he was aware, had plucked it from his hand. The blood rushed to the
gigantic hunter's forehead, and he was on the point of springing at
the man, when Joe said in a deep quiet voice,--

"Be still, Henri. You will but hasten death."

At this moment there was a movement in the outskirts of the circle
of horsemen, and another chief rode into the midst of them. He was
evidently higher in rank than Mahtawa, for he spoke authoritatively to
the crowd, and stepped in before him. The hunters drew little comfort
from the appearance of his face, however, for it scowled upon them.
He was not so powerful a man as Mahtawa, but he was more gracefully
formed, and had a more noble and commanding countenance.

"Have the Pale-faces no wigwams on the great river that they should
come to spy out the lands of the Pawnee?" he demanded.

"We have not come to spy your country," answered Joe, raising himself
proudly as he spoke, and taking off his cap. "We have come with a
message from the great chief of the Pale-faces, who lives in the
village far beyond the great river where the sun rises. He says, Why
should the Pale-face and the Red-man fight? They are brothers. The
same Manitou[*] watches over both. The Pale-faces have more beads, and
guns, and blankets, and knives, and vermilion than they require; they
wish to give some of these things for the skins and furs which
the Red-man does not know what to do with. The great chief of the
Pale-faces has sent me to say, Why should we fight? let us smoke the
pipe of peace."

[Footnote *: The Indian name for God.]

At the mention of beads and blankets the face of the wily chief
brightened for a moment. Then he said sternly,--

"The heart of the Pale-face is not true. He has come here to trade for
himself. San-it-sa-rish has eyes that can see; they are not shut.
Are not these your goods?" The chief pointed to the pack-horse as he
spoke.

"Trappers do not take their goods into the heart of an enemy's camp,"
returned Joe. "San-it-sa-rish is wise, and will understand this. These
are gifts to the chief of the Pawnees. There are more awaiting him
when the pipe of peace is smoked. I have said. What message shall we
take back to the great chief of the Pale-faces?"

San-it-sa-rish was evidently mollified.

"The hunting-field is not the council tent," he said. "The Pale-faces
will go with us to our village."

Of course Jo