peace, but never in time of war,
does the Indian ride abroad without his rouge and his mirror!

The colours were of the right sort, and corresponded exactly with those
that glittered upon the skin of the captive warrior.

Under the keen edge of a bowie, my moustaches came off in a twinkling: a
little grease was procured; the paints were mixed; and placing myself
side by side with the Indian, I stood for _his_ portrait. Rube was the
painter--a piece of soft buckskin his brush--the broad palm of Garey his
palette.

The operation did not last a great while. In twenty minutes it was all
over; and the Indian brave and I appeared the exact counterparts of each
other. Streak by streak, and spot by spot, had the old trapper imitated
those hideous hieroglyphics--even to the red hand upon the breast, and
the cross upon the brow. In horrid aspect, the copy quite equalled the
original.

One thing was still lacking--an important element in the metamorphosis
of disguise: I wanted the long snaky black tresses that adorned the head
of the Comanche.

The want was soon supplied. Again the bowie blade was called upon to
serve as scissors; and with Garey to perform the tonsorial feat, the
_chevelure_ of the Indian was shorn of its flowing glories.

The savage winced as the keen blade glistened around his brow; he had no
other thought than that he was about to be scalped alive!

"'Tain't the way I'd raise his har, the dodrotted skunk!" muttered Rube,
as he stood watching the operation. "Fotch the hide along wi' it, Bill!
It 'll save bother--'ee'll hev to make a wig ef 'ee don't; skin 'im,
durn 'im!"

Of course Garey did not give heed to this cruel counsel, which he knew
was not meant for earnest.

A rude "scratch" was soon constructed, and being placed upon my head,
was attached to my own waving locks. Fortunately, these were of dark
colour, and the hue corresponded.

I fancied I saw the Indian smile when he perceived the use we were
making of his splendid tresses. It was a grim smile, however; and from
the first moment to the last, neither word nor ejaculation escaped from
his lips.

Even I was forced to smile; I could not restrain myself. The odd
travestie in which we were engaged--the strange commingling of the comic
and serious in the act--and above all, the ludicrous look of the captive
Indian, after they had close cropped him--was enough to make a stone
smile. My comrades could not contain themselves, but laugh