Ben laughed heartily and turned his attention to the food which the Frenchman was cooking over the blaze. He had built his fire with all the care of the frontierman. First, the light leaves were ignited, then some small twigs, which would burn without smoke, were added, and when these had kindled into flame, larger sticks were laid on, and the fire was now blazing merrily, though still without much smoke. “Thet’s the sort of fire to fool a Blackfoot,” said Ben. “Ah, many and many’s the brave fellow hez gone under fer the want of a little care. Now, I don’t know thet ther’s an Injun within twenty mile of us, but I always go to work as ef they were all around, as they may be fer all we know, and most likely ar’.” “What makes ye think so, Ben?” said Jules. “’Cause it’s the last of the huntin’ season, an’ the braves are out for buffler. Thet’s my reason. Then, ag’in, ye kain’t depend on a Blackfoot; ther’ a treacherous, hoss-stealin’ set. Mind I tell ye.” “The Crows are just as bad.” “No they _ain’t_. Anyhow, they won’t be to us while I’m hyar. You see they ain’t forgot the’r old chief yet. I calculate I’ve got a wife among ’em som’ers.” “Don’t you know where she is?” “Kain’t say thet I do. When I was in the Crow village last, and thet’s three years ago, she were thar. Ther’s a young chief takes care of her on my account, seein’ he ain’t got no father or mother, an’ she sort of adopted him. So I reckon she rubs along right peart. She orter, anyhow. Prehaps I couldn’t appreciate the woman. I didn’t, anyhow.” “Didn’t you like her?” said Jules. “No, I _didn’t_ relish her much, thet’s a fact. Ye see she had a tongue of her own, and a mighty sharp tongue it were too--the wust you ever see. She never stopped her clack from mornin’ tell night. I wouldn’t hev minded it so much ef she had only taken a rest onc’t in a while, but she didn’t. It seems to me now, thet the durned critter thought ef she let her tongue rest a minnit, she couldn’t start it ag’in.” “What did you do?” “Do! What any man orter do when he kain’t save himself no other way.” “What was that?” “_Heeled_ it ez hard ez I c’u’d go. I reckon that was pooty lively too.” “Vat vas your vrow’s name?” said Jan. “Does ye want her, Jan? Ef ye do, take her, with my blessin’. The truth is, yer gettin’ too fat, and ef ye hed to stand her jaw only a month ye’d git worked down to yer fitin’-weight pooty sudden, that’s all.” “I don’t vant her,” said Jan. “Don’t refuse on account of any feelin’ on my part,” said Ben. “Don’t be bashful nuther. Or, ef it suits ye better, I’ll _sell_ her to ye. I’ll sell her _cheap_ too. Give me thet huntin’-knife of yourn an’ she’s yer own. Thet’s fair, I’m sure.” “Don’t _vant_ her,” persisted Jan. “S’pose she dead, unt I puy her? Den I lose mine goot knife all vor nottings.”