faces, and they would see what colour was the blood of cowards.
When dead, they could not give any more rifles, or powder, to the
Shoshones, who would then bury themselves like prairie-dogs in their
burrows, and never again dare to cross the path of a Crow."

The Prince replied to the chief with scorn. "The Crows," he said,
"ought not to speak so loud, lest they should be heard by the Shoshone
braves, and lies should never be uttered in open air. What were the
Crows before the coming of the white men, on the shores of the Buona
Ventura? They had no country of their own, for one part of it had been
taken by the Black-feet, and the other by the Arrapahoes and the
Shoshones. Then the Crows were like doves hunted by the hawks of the
mountains. They would lie concealed in deep fissures of the earth, and
never stir but during night, so afraid were they of encountering a
Shoshone. But the white men assembled the Shoshones around their
settlements, and taught them to remain at peace with their neighbours.
They had been so for four years; the Crows had had time to build other
wigwams. Why did they act like wolves, biting their benefactors instead
of showing to them their gratitude?"

The Prince, though an old man, had much mettle in him, especially when
his blood was up. He had become a Shoshone, in all except ferocity; he
heartily despised the rascally Crows. As to the chief, he firmly
grasped the handle of his tomahawk, so much did he feel the bitter
taunts of his captive. Suddenly, a rustling was heard, then the sharp
report of a rifle, and one of the Crows, leaping high in the air, fell
down a corpse.

"The chief hath spoken too loud," said the Prince, "I hear the step of a
Shoshone; the Crows had better run away to the mountains, or their flesh
will fatten the dogs of our village."

An expression of rage and deep hatred shot across the features of the
chief, but he stood motionless, as did all his men, trying to catch the
sounds, to ascertain in which direction they should fly from the danger.

"Fear has turned the Crows into stones," resumed the Prince, "what has
become of their light feet? I see the Shoshones."

"The dog of a Pale-face will see them no more," replied the savage, as
he buried his tomahawk in the skull of the unfortunate nobleman, who was
thus doomed to meet with an inglorious death in a distant land.

The other prisoners, who were bound, could of course offer no
resistance. The French sa