Many an armed man, fully capable of defending himself, has thus been thrown off his guard, and sent suddenly into eternity. The cunning savage, seeing his foe prepared, approaches with signs of friendship, and cries of "How, how?"--Indian and short for "How are you?" Their extended hands meet, and as the palms touch, the pale-face shakes hands with death; for, while his fingers are held fast in that treacherous clasp, some other savage brains him from behind, or sheaths a knife in his heart, and the betrayed white, jerked forward with a fiendish laugh, kisses the grass with bloody lips. We had been repeatedly warned by our guides that, when in the minority, the only safe way to hold councils with the Indians is at rifle range. Even if bound by treaty, a knowledge that they can take your scalp without losing their own, is like binding a thief with threads of gold: the very power which should restrain, is in itself a temptation. Our little camp soon bristled all over with defiance, a sort of mammoth porcupine presenting points at every angle for the enemy's consideration. Our animals were put safely under cover among the trees, where they could not be easily stampeded; the wagons were ranged in a crescent, forming excellent defense for our exposed side; and pockets were hurriedly filled with ammunition. As we were thus earnestly preparing for war, an entomological accident occurred. Sachem, while excitedly thrusting a handful of cartridges into Mr. Colon's pockets, suddenly drew back his hand with an expression of alarm, bringing with it a whole assortment of bugs. One of the pocket-cases of our entomologist had opened, and the inmates, imprisoned but that morning, were now swarming over our fat friend's fingers, and up his arm, which he was shaking vigorously. There they were--rare bugs and plethoric spiders, together with one lively young lizard--all clinging to the limb which had brought them rescue from their cavernous cell with more tenacity than if they had been stuck on with Spalding's glue. Poor Sachem! While he danced and fumed, and gave his opinion of bug-men generally, Mr. Colon cried--"O, my bugs, my beautiful bugs!" and grasped eagerly at his vanishing treasures. Our alderman disengaged himself at length from his noxious visitors, and meanwhile the other members of the party, having provided themselves, poured into the other pocket of the grieved naturalist a further supply of cartridges, thereby utterly annihilating the remainder of his collection.