“Oui.  Come ’long,” replied Henri, striding after the rider at a pace that almost compelled his comrades to run.

“Hold on!” cried Dick, laughing; “we don’t want to keep him company.  A distant view is quite enough o’ sich a chap as that.”

“Mais you forgit I cannot see far.”

“So much the better,” remarked Joe; “it’s my opinion we’ve seen enough o’ him.  Ah! he’s goin’ to look on at the games.  Them’s worth lookin’ at.”

The games to which Joe referred were taking place on a green level plain close to the creek, and a little above the waterfall before referred to.  Some of the Indians were horse-racing, some jumping, and others wrestling; but the game which proved most attractive was throwing the javelin, in which several of the young braves were engaged.

This game is played by two competitors, each armed with a dart, in an arena about fifty yards long.  One of the players has a hoop of six inches in diameter.  At a signal they start off on foot at full speed, and on reaching the middle of the arena the Indian with the hoop rolls it along before them, and each does his best to send a javelin through the hoop before the other.  He who succeeds counts so many points; if both miss, the nearest to the hoop is allowed to count, but not so much as if he had “ringed” it.  The Indians are very fond of this game, and will play at it under a broiling sun for hours together.  But a good deal of the interest attaching to it is owing to the fact that they make it a means of gambling.  Indians are inveterate gamblers, and will sometimes go on until they lose horses, bows, blankets, robes, and, in short, their whole personal property.  The consequences are, as might be expected, that fierce and bloody quarrels sometimes arise in which life is often lost.

“Try your hand at that,” said Henri to Dick.

“By all means,” cried Dick, handing his rifle to his friend, and springing into the ring enthusiastically.

A general shout of applause greeted the Pale-face, who threw off’ his coat and tightened his belt, while, a young Indian presented him with a dart.

“Now, see that ye do us credit, lad,” said Joe.

“I’ll try,” answered Dick.

In a moment they were off.  The young Indian rolled away the hoop, and Dick threw his dart with such vigour that it went deep into the ground, but missed the hoop by a foot at least.  The young Indian’s first dart went through the centre.

“Ha!” exclaimed Joe Blunt to the Indians near him, “the lad’s not used to that game; try him at a race.  Bring out your best brave—­he whose bound is like the hunted deer.”

We need scarcely remind the reader that Joe spoke in the Indian language, and that the above is a correct rendering of the sense of what he said.

The name of Tarwicadia, or the little chief, immediately passed from lip to lip, and in a few minutes an Indian, a little below the medium size, bounded into the arena with an indiarubber-like elasticity that caused a shade of anxiety to pass over Joe’s face.