and mules, though,
indeed, a Pawnee's forebearance is not always to be trusted; but in
certain regions farther to the west, the guard must beware how he
exposes his person to the light of the fire, lest perchance some
keen-eyed skulking marksman should let fly a bullet or an arrow from
amid the darkness.

Among various tales that circulated around our camp fire was a rather
curious one, told by Boisverd, and not inappropriate here. Boisverd was
trapping with several companions on the skirts of the Blackfoot country.
The man on guard, well knowing that it behooved him to put forth his
utmost precaution, kept aloof from the firelight, and sat watching
intently on all sides. At length he was aware of a dark, crouching
figure, stealing noiselessly into the circle of the light. He hastily
cocked his rifle, but the sharp click of the lock caught the ear of
Blackfoot, whose senses were all on the alert. Raising his arrow,
already fitted to the string, he shot in the direction of the sound. So
sure was his aim that he drove it through the throat of the unfortunate
guard, and then, with a loud yell, bounded from the camp.

As I looked at the partner of my watch, puffing and blowing over his
fire, it occurred to me that he might not prove the most efficient
auxiliary in time of trouble.

"Delorier," said I, "would you run away if the Pawnees should fire at
us?"

"Ah! oui, oui, monsieur!" he replied very decisively.

I did not doubt the fact, but was a little surprised at the frankness of
the confession.

At this instant a most whimsical variety of voices--barks, howls, yelps,
and whines--all mingled as it were together, sounded from the prairie,
not far off, as if a whole conclave of wolves of every age and sex were
assembled there. Delorier looked up from his work with a laugh, and
began to imitate this curious medley of sounds with a most ludicrous
accuracy. At this they were repeated with redoubled emphasis, the
musician being apparently indignant at the successful efforts of a
rival. They all proceeded from the throat of one little wolf, not
larger than a spaniel, seated by himself at some distance. He was of
the species called the prairie wolf; a grim-visaged, but harmless little
brute, whose worst propensity is creeping among horses and gnawing the
ropes of raw hide by which they are picketed around the camp. But
other beasts roam the prairies, far more formidable in aspect and in
character. These are the large whi