"Oui, it is remarkaibel, vraiment. Bot dey do more love war to peace.
Dey loves to be excit-ed, I s'pose."

"Humph! One would think the hunt we seed a little agone would be
excitement enough. But, I say, that must he the chiefs 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 such a strange
crowd, the more especially that the ill-looking Indian curs gave him
expressive looks of hatred, and exhibited some desire to rush upon him
in a body, so that he had to keep a sharp look-out all round him. When
therefore Dick entered the tent, Crusoe endeavoured to do so along
with him; but he was met by a blow on the nose from an old squaw, who
scolded him in a shrill voice and bade him begone.

Either our hero's knowledge of the Indian language was insufficient to
enable him to understand the order, or he had resolved not to obey it,
for instead of retreating, he drew a deep gurgling breath, curled his
nose, and displayed a row of teeth that caused the old woman to draw
back in alarm. Crusoe's was a forgiving spirit. The instant that
opposition ceased he forgot the injury, and was meekly advancing, when
Dick held up his finger.

"Go outside, pup, and wait."

Crusoe's tail drooped; with a deep sigh he turned and left the tent.
He took up a position near the entrance, however, and sat down
resignedly. So meek, indeed, did the poor dog look that six
mangy-looking curs felt their dastardly hearts emboldened to make a
rush at him with boisterous yells.

Crusoe did not rise. He did not even condescend to turn his head
toward them; but he looked at them out of the corner of his dark eye,
wrinkled--very slightly--the skin of his nose, exhibited two beautiful
fangs, and gave utterance to a soft remark, that might be