The Prince replied to the chief with scorn.  “The Crows,” he said, “ought not to speak so loud, lest they should be heard by the Shoshone braves, and lies should never be uttered in open air.  What were the Crows before the coming of the white men, on the shores of the Buona Ventura?  They had no country of their own, for one part of it had been taken by the Black-feet, and the other by the Arrapahoes and the Shoshones.  Then the Crows were like doves hunted by the hawks of the mountains.  They would lie concealed in deep fissures of the earth, and never stir but during night, so afraid were they of encountering a Shoshone.  But the white men assembled the Shoshones around their settlements, and taught them to remain at peace with their neighbours.  They had been so for four years; the Crows had had time to build other wigwams.  Why did they act like wolves, biting their benefactors, instead of showing to them their gratitude?”

The Prince, though an old man, had much mettle in him, especially when his blood was up.  He had become a Shoshone in all except ferocity; he heartily despised the rascally Crows.  As to the chief, he firmly grasped the handle of his tomahawk, so much did he feel the bitter taunts of his captive.  Suddenly, a rustling was heard, then the sharp report of a rifle, and one of the Crows, leaping high in the air, fell down a corpse.

“The chief hath spoken too loud,” said the Prince; “I hear the step of a Shoshone; the Crows had better run away to the mountains, or their flesh will fatten the dogs of our village.”

An expression of rage and deep hatred shot across the features of the chief, but he stood motionless, as did all his men, trying to catch the sounds, to ascertain in which direction they should fly from the danger.

“Fear has turned the Crows into stones,” resumed the Prince, “what has become of their light feet?  I see the Shoshones.”

“The dog of a Pale-face will see them no more,” replied the savage, as he buried his tomahawk in the skull of the unfortunate nobleman, who was thus doomed to meet with an inglorious death in a distant land.

The other prisoners, who were bound, could of course offer no resistance.  The French savant and two of his guides were butchered in an instant, but before the remainder of the party could be sacrificed, a well-directed volley was poured upon the compact body of the Crows, who rushed immediately to the woods for cover, leaving behind them twenty dead and wounded besides their cruel chief.  Then from the thickets behind appeared thirty Shoshones, who immediately gave chase, leaving only one of their men to free the three remaining trappers, and watch over the body of their murdered friend and legislator.

A sharp tiralleur fire from their respective covers was carried on between the Shoshones and Crows for half an hour, in which the Crows lost ten more scalps, and having at length reached a rugged hill full of briars and bushes, they took fairly to their heels, without even attempting to answer the volleys poured after them.  The victims were carried to the settlement, and the very day they were consigned to their grave, the Shoshones started for the land of the Crows.  The results of the expedition I have mentioned already.