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--" "Oh, nivare mind de difficulties," interrupted Henri, whose wrath at the treatment he had received had not yet cooled down.