The Indian chief did not move a muscle.  He was a tall, powerful savage, almost naked, and mounted on a coal-black charger, which he sat with the ease of a man accustomed to ride from infancy.  He was, indeed, a splendid-looking savage, but his face wore a dark frown, for, although he and his band had visited the settlements and trafficked with the fur-traders on the Missouri, he did not love the “Pale-faces,” whom he regarded as intruders on the hunting-grounds of his fathers, and the peace that existed between them at that time was of a very fragile character.  Indeed, it was deemed by the traders impossible to travel through the Indian country at that period except in strong force, and it was the very boldness of the present attempt that secured to our hunters anything like a civil reception.

Joe, who could speak the Pawnee tongue fluently, began by explaining the object of his visit, and spoke of the presents which he had brought for the great chief; but it was evident that his words made little impression.  As he discoursed to them the savages crowded round the little party, and began to handle and examine their dresses and weapons with a degree of rudeness that caused Joe considerable anxiety.

“Mahtawa believes that the heart of the Pale-face is true,” said the savage, when Joe paused, “but he does not choose to make peace.  The Pale-faces are grasping.  They never rest.  They turn their eyes to the great mountains and say, ‘There we will stop.’  But even there they will not stop.  They are never satisfied; Mahtawa knows them well.”

This speech sank like a death-knell into the hearts of the hunters, for they knew that if the savages refused to make peace, they would scalp them all and appropriate their goods.  To make things worse, a dark-visaged Indian suddenly caught hold of Henri’s rifle, and, ere he was aware, had plucked it from his hand.  The blood rushed to the gigantic hunter’s forehead, and he was on the point of springing at the man, when Joe said in a deep quiet voice,—­

“Be still, Henri.  You will but hasten death.”

At this moment there was a movement in the outskirts of the circle of horsemen, and another chief rode into the midst of them.  He was evidently higher in rank than Mahtawa, for he spoke authoritatively to the crowd, and stepped in before him.  The hunters drew little comfort from the appearance of his face, however, for it scowled upon them.  He was not so powerful a man as Mahtawa, but he was more gracefully formed, and had a more noble and commanding countenance.

“Have the Pale-faces no wigwams on the great river that they should come to spy out the lands of the Pawnee?” he demanded.

“We have not come to spy your country,” answered Joe, raising himself proudly as he spoke, and taking off his cap.  “We have come with a message from the great chief of the Pale-faces, who lives in the village far beyond the great river where the sun rises.  He says, Why should the Pale-face and the Red-man fight?  They are brothers.  The same Manitou[*] watches over both.  The Pale-faces have more beads, and guns, and blankets, and knives, and vermilion than they require; they wish to give some of these things for the skins and furs which the Red-man does not know what to do with.  The great chief of the Pale-faces has sent me to say, Why should we fight? let us smoke the pipe of peace.”