an he addressed, and he was
deliberating what fiction he should next invent, in order to obtain his
real object, when a slight commotion among the band put an end at once
to all his schemes. Casting his eyes behind him, as if fearful of a
speedy interruption, he said, in tones much less pretending than those
he had first resorted to--

"Give Weucha the milk of the Long-knives, and he will sing your name in
the ears of the great men of his tribe."

"Go," repeated the trapper, motioning him away, with strong disgust.
"Your young men are speaking of Mahtoree. My words are for the ears of a
chief."

The savage cast a look at the other, which, notwithstanding the dim
light, was sufficiently indicative of implacable hostility. He then
stole away among his fellows, anxious to conceal the counterfeit he had
attempted to practise, no less than the treachery he had contemplated
against a fair division of the spoils, from the man named by the
trapper, whom he now also knew to be approaching, by the manner in
which his name passed from one to another, in the band. He had hardly
disappeared before a warrior of powerful frame advanced out of the dark
circle, and placed himself before the captives, with that high and proud
bearing for which a distinguished Indian chief is ever so remarkable.
He was followed by all the party, who arranged themselves around his
person, in a deep and respectful silence.

"The earth is very large," the chief commenced, after a pause of that
true dignity which his counterfeit had so miserably affected; "why can
the children of my great white father never find room on it?"

"Some among them have heard that their friends in the prairies are in
want of many things," returned the trapper; "and they have come to see
if it be true. Some want, in their turns, what the red men are willing
to sell, and they come to make their friends rich, with powder and
blankets."

"Do traders cross the big river with empty hands?"

"Our hands are empty because your young men thought we were tired, and
they have lightened us of our load. They were mistaken; I am old, but I
am still strong."

"It cannot be. Your load has fallen in the prairies. Show my young men
the place, that they may pick it up before the Pawnees find it."

"The path to the spot is crooked, and it is night. The hour is come for
sleep," said the trapper, with perfect composure. "Bid your warriors go
over yonder hill; there is water and there is wood;