[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.

“The Pawnees are true; they are not thieves.  They choose to look at the rifle of the Pale-face.  It shall be returned.”

The rifle was instantly restored, and then our hunters rode off with the Indians towards their camp.  On the way they met hundreds of women and children going to the scene of the great hunt, for it was their special duty to cut up the meat and carry it into camp.  The men, considering that they had done quite enough in killing it, returned to smoke and eat away the fatigues of the chase.

As they rode along, Dick Varley observed that some of the “braves,” as Indian warriors are styled, were eating pieces of the bloody livers of the buffaloes in a raw state, at which he expressed not a little disgust.

“Ah, boy! you’re green yet,” remarked Joe Blunt in an undertone.  “Mayhap ye’ll be thankful to do that same yerself some day.”

“Well, I’ll not refuse to try when it is needful,” said Dick with a laugh; “meanwhile I’m content to see the Redskins do it, Joe Blunt.”

CHAPTER VIII.

Dick and his friends visit the Indians and see many wonders—­Crusoe, too, experiences a few surprises, and teaches Indian dogs a lesson—­An Indian dandy—­A foot-race.

The Pawnee village, at which they soon arrived, was situated in the midst of a most interesting and picturesque scene.