the fact that no one
could discharge it but himself. Dick had, during his short stay at the
Pawnee village, amused himself and the savages by exhibiting his
marvellous powers with the "silver rifle." Since it had been won by him
at the memorable match in the Mustang Valley, it had scarce ever been
out of his hand, so that he had become decidedly the best shot in the
settlement, could "bark" squirrels (that is, hit the bark of the branch
on which a squirrel happened to be standing, and so kill it by the
concussion alone), and could "drive the nail" every shot. The silver
rifle, as we have said, became "great medicine" to the Red-men, when
they saw it kill at a distance which the few wretched guns they had
obtained from the fur-traders could not even send a spent ball to. The
double shot, too, filled them with wonder and admiration; but that which
they regarded with an almost supernatural feeling of curiosity was the
percussion cap, which in Dick's hands always exploded, but in theirs was
utterly useless!

This result was simply owing to the fact, that Dick after firing handed
the rifle to the Indians without renewing the cap. So that when they
loaded and attempted to fire, of course it merely snapped. When he
wished again to fire, he adroitly exchanged the old cap for a new one.
He was immensely tickled by the solemn looks of the Indians at this most
incomprehensible of all "medicines," and kept them for some days in
ignorance of the true cause, intending to reveal it before he left. But
circumstances now arose which banished all trifling thoughts from his
mind.

Mahtawa raised his head suddenly, and said, pointing to the silver
rifle, "Mahtawa wishes to have the two-shotted medicine gun. He will
give his best horse in exchange."

"Mahtawa is liberal," answered Joe, "but the pale-faced youth cannot
part with it. He has far to travel, and must shoot buffaloes by the
way."

"The pale-faced youth shall have a bow and arrows to shoot the buffalo,"
rejoined the Indian.

"He cannot use the bow and arrow," answered Joe; "he has not been
trained like the Red-man."

Mahtawa was silent for a few seconds, and his dark brows frowned more
heavily than ever over his eyes.

"The Pale-faces are too bold," he exclaimed, working himself into a
passion; "they are in the power of Mahtawa. If they will not give the
gun he will take it."

He sprang suddenly to his feet as he spoke, and snatched the rifle from
Henri's ha