What could the worthy captain do, to console the tender-hearted old squaw, and, peradventure, to save the venerable patriarch from a curtain lecture?  He bethought himself of a pair of ear-bobs:  it was true, the patriarch’s better-half was of an age and appearance that seemed to put personal vanity out of the question, but when is personal vanity extinct?  The moment he produced the glittering earbobs, the whimpering and whining of the sempiternal beldame was at an end.  She eagerly placed the precious baubles in her ears, and, though as ugly as the Witch of Endor, went off with a sideling gait and coquettish air, as though she had been a perfect Semiramis.

The captain had now saddled his newly acquired steed, and his foot was in the stirrup, when the affectionate patriarch again stepped forward, and presented to him a young Pierced-nose, who had a peculiarly sulky look.  “This,” said the venerable chief, “is my son:  he is very good; a great horseman—­he always took care of this very fine horse—­he brought him up from a colt, and made him what he is.—­He is very fond of this fine horse—­he loves him like a brother—­his heart will be very heavy when this fine horse leaves the camp.”

What could the captain do, to reward the youthful hope of this venerable pair, and comfort him for the loss of his foster-brother, the horse?  He bethought him of a hatchet, which might be spared from his slender stores.  No sooner did he place the implement into the hands of the young hopeful, than his countenance brightened up, and he went off rejoicing in his hatchet, to the full as much as did his respectable mother in her ear-bobs.

The captain was now in the saddle, and about to start, when the affectionate old patriarch stepped forward, for the third time, and, while he laid one hand gently on the mane of the horse, held up the rifle in the other.  “This rifle,” said he, “shall be my great medicine.  I will hug it to my heart—­I will always love it, for the sake of my good friend, the bald-headed chief.—­But a rifle, by itself, is dumb—­I cannot make it speak.  If I had a little powder and ball, I would take it out with me, and would now and then shoot a deer; and when I brought the meat home to my hungry family, I would say—­This was killed by the rifle of my friend, the bald-headed chief, to whom I gave that very fine horse.”

There was no resisting this appeal; the captain, forthwith, furnished the coveted supply of powder and ball; but at the same time, put spurs to his very fine gift-horse, and the first trial of his speed was to get out of all further manifestation of friendship, on the part of the affectionate old patriarch and his insinuating family.

32.