[Footnote *: The Indian name for God.]

At the mention of beads and blankets the face of the wily chief
brightened for a moment. Then he said sternly,--

"The heart of the Pale-face is not true. He has come here to trade for
himself. San-it-sa-rish has eyes that can see; they are not shut.
Are not these your goods?" The chief pointed to the pack-horse as he
spoke.

"Trappers do not take their goods into the heart of an enemy's camp,"
returned Joe. "San-it-sa-rish is wise, and will understand this. These
are gifts to the chief of the Pawnees. There are more awaiting him
when the pipe of peace is smoked. I have said. What message shall we
take back to the great chief of the Pale-faces?"

San-it-sa-rish was evidently mollified.

"The hunting-field is not the council tent," he said. "The Pale-faces
will go with us to our village."

Of course Joe was too glad to agree to this proposal, but he now
deemed it politic to display a little firmness.

"We cannot go till our rifle is restored. It will not do to go back
and tell the great chief of the Pale-faces that the Pawnees are
thieves."

The chief frowned angrily.