Though much surprised, Dick obeyed, but it required all his efforts, both of voice and hand, to control Crusoe, whose mind was much too honest and straightforward to understand such subtle pieces of diplomacy, and who strove to rush to the rescue of his ill-used friend.

When the tumult had partly subsided, Joe Blunt rose and said,—­“Have the Pawnee braves turned traitors that they draw the knife against those who have smoked with them the pipe of peace and eaten their maize?  The Pale-faces are three; the Pawnees are thousands.  If evil has been done, let it be laid before the chief.  Mahtawa wishes to have the medicine gun.  Although we said, No, we could not part with it, he tried to take it by force.  Are we to go back to the great chief of the Pale-faces and say that the Pawnees are thieves?  Are the Pale-faces henceforth to tell their children when they steal, ’That is bad; that is like the Pawnee?’ No; this must not be.  The rifle shall be restored, and we will forget this disagreement.  Is it not so?”

There was an evident disposition on the part of many of the Indians, with whom Mahtawa was no favourite, to applaud this speech; but the wily chief sprang forward, and, with flashing eyes, sought to turn the tables.

“The Pale-face speaks with soft words, but his heart is false.  Is he not going to make peace with the enemies of the Pawnee?  Is he not going to take goods to them, and make them gifts and promises?  The Pale-faces are spies.  They come to see the weakness of the Pawnee camp; but they have found that it is strong.  Shall we suffer the false hearts to escape?  Shall they live?  No; we will hang their scalps in our wigwams, for they have struck a chief, and we will keep all their goods for our squaws—­wah!”

This allusion to keeping all the goods had more effect on the minds of the vacillating savages than the chief’s eloquence.  But a new turn was given to their thoughts by Joe Blunt remarking in a quiet, almost contemptuous tone,—­

“Mahtawa is not the great chief.”

“True, true,” they cried, and immediately hurried to the tent of San-it-sa-rish.

Once again this chief stood between the hunters and the savages, who wanted but a signal to fall on them.  There was a long palaver, which ended in Henri being set at liberty and the rifle being restored.

That evening, as the three friends sat beside their fire eating their supper of boiled maize and buffalo meat, they laughed and talked as carelessly as ever; but the gaiety was assumed, for they were at the time planning their escape from a tribe which, they foresaw, would not long refrain from carrying out their wishes, and robbing, perhaps murdering them.

“Ye see,” said Joe with a perplexed air, while he drew a piece of live charcoal from the fire with his fingers and lighted his pipe—­“ye see, there’s more difficulties in the way o’ gettin’ off than ye think—­”