of
plumes: the finest triumph of savage taste. This magnificent head-dress
added to the majesty of his appearance.

A white buffalo robe hung from his shoulders, with all the graceful
draping of a toga. Its silky fur corresponded to the colour of his
dress, and contrasted strikingly with his own dark tresses.

There were other ornaments about his person. His arms and accoutrements
were shining with metallic brightness, and the stock and butt of his
rifle were richly inlaid with silver.

I have been thus minute in my description, as the first appearance of
this man impressed me with a picture that can never be effaced from my
memory. He was the _beau ideal_ of a picturesque and romantic savage;
and yet there was nothing savage either in his speech or bearing. On
the contrary, the interrogation which he had just addressed to the
trapper was put in the politest manner. The reply was not so courteous.

"Did I fire! Didn't ye hear a crack? Didn't ye see the thing fall?
Look yonder!"

Garey, as he spoke, pointed up to the bird.

"We must have fired simultaneously."

As the Indian said this he appealed to his gun, which was still smoking
at the muzzle.

"Look hyar, Injun! whether we fired symultainyously, or extraneously, or
cattawampously, ain't the flappin' o' a beaver's tail to me; but I tuk
sight on that bird; I hut that bird; and 'twar my bullet brought the
thing down."

"I think I must have hit it too," replied the Indian, modestly.

"That's like, with that ar' spangled gimcrack!" said Garey, looking
disdainfully at the other's gun, and then proudly at his own brown
weather-beaten piece, which he had just wiped, and was about to reload.

"Gimcrack or no," answered the Indian, "she sends a bullet straighter
and farther than any piece I have hitherto met with. I'll warrant she
has sent hers through the body of the crane."

"Look hyar, mister--for I s'pose we must call a gentleman `mister' who
speaks so fine an' looks so fine, tho' he be's an Injun--it's mighty
easy to settle who hut the bird. That thing's a fifty or tharabouts;
Killbar's a ninety. 'Taint hard to tell which has plugged the varmint.
We'll soon see;" and, so saying, the hunter stepped off towards the tree
on which hung the gruya, high up.

"How are you to get it down?" cried one of the men, who had stepped
forward to witness the settlement of this curious dispute.

There was no reply, for everyone saw that Garey was poising his rif