Pawnees are thieves? Are the Pale-faces
henceforth to tell their children when they steal, 'That is bad;
that is like the Pawnee?' No; this must not be. The rifle shall be
restored, and we will forget this disagreement. Is it not so?"

There was an evident disposition on the part of many of the Indians,
with whom Mahtawa was no favourite, to applaud this speech; but the
wily chief sprang forward, and, with flashing eyes, sought to turn the
tables.

"The Pale-face speaks with soft words, but his heart is false. Is he
not going to make peace with the enemies of the Pawnee? Is he not
going to take goods to them, and make them gifts and promises? The
Pale-faces are spies. They come to see the weakness of the Pawnee
camp; but they have found that it is strong. Shall we suffer the false
hearts to escape? Shall they live? No; we will hang their scalps in
our wigwams, for they have _struck a chief_, and we will keep all
their goods for our squaws--wah!"

This allusion to keeping all the goods had more effect on the minds of
the vacillating savages than the chief's eloquence. But a new turn
was given to their thoughts by Joe Blunt remarking in a quiet, almost
contemptuous tone,--

"Mahtawa is not the _great_ chief."

"True, true," they cried, and immediately hurried to the tent of
San-it-sa-rish.

Once again this chief stood between the hunters and the savages, who
wanted but a signal to fall on them. There was a long palaver, which
ended in Henri being set at liberty and the rifle being restored.

That evening, as the three friends sat beside their fire eating their
supper of boiled maize and buffalo meat, they laughed and talked as
carelessly as ever; but the gaiety was assumed, for they were at the
time planning their escape from a tribe which, they foresaw, would
not long refrain from carrying out their wishes, and robbing, perhaps
murdering them.

"Ye see," said Joe with a perplexed air, while he drew a piece of live
charcoal from the fire with his fingers and lighted his pipe--"ye see,
there's more difficulties in the way o' gettin' off than ye think--"

"Oh, nivare mind de difficulties," interrupted Henri, whose wrath at
the treatment he had received had not yet cooled down. "Ve must jump
on de best horses ve can git hold, shake our fists at de red reptiles,
and go away fast as ve can. De best hoss _must_ vin de race."

Joe shook his head. "A hundred arrows would be in our backs before we
got twenty yards fro