“You know,” continued Sneak, “I didn’t mean it to turn out as bad as it did.  I jest thought it would kick you over in the snow, and not hurt you any, hardly.”

“Well, let’s say no more about it,” said Joe; “but when you do any thing of that kind hereafter, pause and reflect on the consequences, and forbear.”

“I’ll keep my mouth out of the way next time,” said Sneak; “and now, as all’s square betwixt us, s’pose we agree about how we are to do with them dead Indians.  S’pose we go halves with all the things they’ve got?”

“No, I’ll be hanged if I do!” said Joe quickly.  “The one I shot was a chief, and he’s sure to have some gold about him.”

“Yes, but you know you’d never a killed him if it hadn’t been for me.”

“But if it hadn’t been for you I wouldn’t have got hurt,” replied Joe, reproachfully.

“Well, I don’t care much about the chief—­the one I killed maybe took all his silver and gold before I shot him.  Anyhow, I know I can find something out there in the snow where they were blowed up,” said Sneak, arranging a buffalo robe on the hearth and lying down.

“And we must hereafter let each other alone, Sneak,” said Joe, “for the fact is, we are both too much for one another in our tricks.”

“I’m willing,” replied Sneak, lazily, as his eyes gradually closed.

Joe placed his dish on the shelf over the fireplace, and folding his arms, and leaning back in his great chair, likewise closed his eyes.

But a few moments sufficed to place them both in the land of dreams.  And now the silence was intense.  Even the consuming logs of wood seemed to sink by degrees into huge livid coals, without emitting the least sparkling sound.  The embers threw a dim glare over the scene, such as Queen Mab delights in when she leads her fairy train through the chambers of sleeping mortals.  A sweet smile rested upon the lips of Mary.  A loved form flitted athwart her visions.  Roughgrove’s features wore a grave but placid cast.  Boone’s face was as passionless and calm as if he were a stranger to terrific strife.  Perils could now make no impression on him.  There was sadness on the damp brow of Glenn, and a tear was stealing through the corner of his lids.  A scene of woe, or the crush of cherished hopes, was passing before his entranced vision.  Sneak, ever and anon grasped the empty air, and motioned his arm, as if in the midst of deadly conflict.  And Joe, though his bruised face betrayed not his cast of thought, still evinced a participation in the ideal transactions of the night, by the frequent involuntary motions of his body, and repeated endeavours to avoid visionary dangers.