Have you
never scented a Pawnee afore, pup?--keep down, dog--keep down--my
brother is right. The Siouxes are thieves. Men of all colours and
nations say it of them, and say it truly. But the people from the
rising sun are not Siouxes, and they wish to visit the lodges of the
Loups."
"The head of my brother is white," returned the Pawnee, throwing one
of those glances at the trapper, which were so remarkably expressive
of distrust, intelligence, and pride, and then pointing, as he
continued, towards the eastern horizon, "and his eyes have looked on
many things--can he tell me the name of what he sees yonder--is it a
buffaloe?"
"It looks more like a cloud, peeping above the skirt of the plain with
the sunshine lighting its edges. It is the smoke of the heavens."
"It is a hill of the earth, and on its top are the lodges of Pale-
faces! Let the women of my brother wash their feet among the people of
their own colour."
"The eyes of a Pawnee are good, if he can see a white-skin so far."
The Indian turned slowly towards the speaker, and after a pause of a
moment he sternly demanded--
"Can my brother hunt?"
"Alas! I claim to be no better than a miserable trapper!"
"When the plain is covered with the buffaloes, can he see them?"
"No doubt, no doubt--it is far easier to see than to take a scampering
bull.
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