o stout young Indians, who had
pulled him out of a ditch, his fine coat covered with mud, his hat
battered and bruised, his spear shorn of its gay streamers, and poor
Pawnee himself weeping and uttering all the doleful lamentations of a
tipsy Indian.

* * * * *

Among the women with whom I early made acquaintance was the wife of
Wau-kaun-zee-kah, _the Yellow Thunder_. She had accompanied her husband,
who was one of the deputation to visit the President, and from that time
forth she had been known as "the Washington woman." She had a pleasant,
old-acquaintance sort of air in greeting me, as much as to say, "You
and I have seen something of the world." No expression of surprise or
admiration escaped her lips, as her companions, with childlike, laughing
simplicity, exclaimed and clapped their hands at the different wonderful
objects I showed them. Her deportment said plainly, "Yes, yes, my
children, I have seen all these things before." It was not until I put
to her ear a tropical shell, of which I had a little cabinet, and she
heard its murmuring sound, that she laid aside her apathy of manner. She
poked her finger into the opening to get at the animal within, shook it
violently, then raised it to her ear again, and finally burst into a
hearty laugh, and laid it down, acknowledging, by her looks, that this
was beyond her comprehension.

I had one shell of peculiar beauty--my favorite in the whole
collection--a small conch, covered with rich, dark veins. Each of the
visitors successively took up this shell, and by words and gestures
expressed her admiration, evidently showing that she had an eye for
beauty--this was on the occasion of the parting visit of my red
daughters.

Shortly after the payment had been completed, and the Indians had left,
I discovered that my valued shell was missing from the collection. Could
it be that one of the squaws had stolen it? It was possible--they would
occasionally, though rarely, do such things under the influence of
strong temptation. I tried to recollect which, among the party, looked
most likely to have been the culprit. It could not have been the
Washington woman--she was partly civilized, and knew better.

A few weeks afterwards Mrs. _Yellow Thunder_ again made her appearance,
and carefully unfolding a gay-colored chintz shawl, which she carried
rolled up in her hand, she produced the shell, and laid it on the table
before me. I did not know whet