Little Running Cropped-eared Dog laid down his pipe and folded his arms.

“Brother,” he said to Black Bull Pup, with that easy assumption of authority which characterised him, “there is no necessity for us both to be awake.  I would woo the god of pleasant dreams, so oblige me by keeping watch while my eyelids droop.”

Bull Pup, who was a choleric little Indian, and, judging by his finery, a tip-top swell in Indian upper circles, looked up with an air of surprise and angry remonstrance.

“Brother,” he replied, “the modest expression of your gracious pleasure is only equalled by the impudence of the prairie dog who wags his tail in the face of the hunter before hastening to the privacy of his tepee underground.  You slept all this morning, O Cropped-eared one!  It is my turn now.”

But Little Running Dog was renowned among the Stonies for his wide knowledge of men and things.  Moreover, he loved ease above all, so, by reason of his imperturbability and honeyed words, he invariably disarmed opposition and had his own way.  On the present occasion he said—­

“Black Bull Pup will pardon me; he speaks with his accustomed truthfulness and fairness of thought I had for the moment forgotten how, when he took Black Plume of the Sarcees prisoner, and was leading him back for the enlivening knife and burning tallow, he watched by him for four days and four nights without closing an eye, thus earning for himself the distinction of being called the ‘Sleepless One.’  There is no such necessity for his keeping awake now.  Let his dreams waft him in spirit to the Happy Hunting Grounds.  As for me, I am getting an old man, whose arrow-hand lacks strength to pull back the string of the bow.  It can be but a few short years before I enter upon the long, last sleep, so it matters not Sleep, brother.”

But Black Bull Pup, as is often the case, was tender of heart as well as choleric, and hastened to say that his venerable comrade must take some much-needed rest, so that within five minutes the ugly Cropped-eared one was making the sweet hush of the summer noon hideous with his snores, whilst Black Bull Pup was beginning to wonder if, after all, he had not been “got at” again by his Machiavelian friend.  It was not a pleasant reflection, and it really was a very drowsy sort of afternoon.  Four minutes later he was sound asleep himself.

Slowly toiling up the stony, sun-dried bed of the tarn came Pepin the dwarf, and alongside him, showing unusual signs of animation—­he had scented brother bears—­came Antoine.  Behind them walked the unstable breed, Bastien Lagrange, with a huge pack upon his back.  The pack was heavy and the hill was steep, so that the human beast of burden perspired and groaned considerably.  He also showed much imagination and ingenuity in the construction of strange words suitable to the occasion.  Pepin’s ears had just been assailed by some extra powerful ones when he turned to remonstrate.