faces, they shall receive gifts of knives, and guns, and powder, and blankets every year.”
“Wah!” grunted the chief; “it is good. The great chief is wise. We will smoke the pipe of peace.”
The things that afforded so much satisfaction to San-it-sa-rish were, the veriest trifles. Penny looking-glasses in yellow gilt tin frames, beads of various colours, needles, cheap scissors and knives, vermilion paint, and coarse scarlet cloth, etc. They were of priceless value, however, in the estimation of the savages, who delighted to adorn themselves with leggings made from the cloth, beautifully worked with beads by their own ingenious women. They were thankful, too, for knives even of the commonest description, having none but bone ones of their own; and they gloried in daubing their faces with streaks of charcoal and vermilion. To gaze at their visages, when thus treated, in the penny looking-glasses is their summit of delight!
Joe presented the chief with a portion of these coveted goods, and tied up the remainder. We may remark here that the only thing which prevented the savages from taking possession of the whole at once, without asking permission, was the promise of the annual gifts, which they knew would not be forthcoming were any evil to befall the deputies of the Pale-faces. Nevertheless, it cost them a severe struggle to restrain their hands on this occasion, and Joe and his companions felt that they would have to play their part well in order to fulfil their mission with safety and credit.
“The Pale-faces may go now and talk with the braves,” said San-it-sa-rish, after carefully examining everything that was given to him; “a council will be called soon, and we will smoke the pipe of peace.”
Accepting this permission to retire, the hunters immediately left the tent; and amused themselves by wandering about the village.
“He’s a cute chap that,” remarked Joe, with a sarcastic smile; “I don’t feel quite easy about gettin’ away. He’ll bother the life out o’ us to get all the goods we’ve got, and, ye see, as we’ve other tribes to visit, we must give away as little as we can here.”
“Ha! you is right,” said Henri; “dat fellow’s eyes twinkle at de knives and tings like two stars.”
“Fire-flies, ye should say. Stars are too soft an’ beautiful to compare to the eyes o’ yon savage,” said
