"Ay, we must escape--at least we must try," said Joe. "But I'll make
one more effort to smooth over San-it-sa-rish, an' git him to snub
that villain Mahtawa."

Just as he spoke the villain in question entered the tent with a bold,
haughty air, and sat down before the fire in sullen silence. For
some minutes no one spoke, and Henri, who happened at the time to be
examining the locks of Dick's rifle, continued to inspect them with an
appearance of careless indifference that he was far from feeling.

Now, this rifle of Dick's had become a source of unceasing wonder to
the Indians--wonder which was greatly increased by 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