The scout, who had awakened at the first sound of voices, and who took in at a glance the whole situation, fully equalled his friend's coolness. "Snakes!" he remarked, "I had a pesky bad dream. Dreamt I was just goin' to draw on some feller, when I awoke." "The Beaver has slain many enemies," rejoined War Wolf, nodding his head approvingly. "When a man has taken scalps, he is prompt to take more, even in his dreams." "And to lose his own, you pison young skunk!" thought Smokestack Bill, in reply to this. "I'll be even with you one day, see if I don't." But the "pison young skunk," unenlightened as to this event of the future, merely nodded pleasantly as he sat by the fire, knife in hand, assimilating his juicy venison steak with the utmost complacency. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. Part of the initiatory festival during which, by virtue of undergoing various forms of ghastly self-torture, the growing-up boys are admitted among the ranks of the warriors. CHAPTER THREE. A TRAGEDY OF THE WILD WEST. It may seem strange that on the face of so forcible a demonstration of the treacherous disposition of their guest, yet a couple of hours after sunrise should see our friends starting in his company for the Sioux villages. But the incident of the night, which might have had so tragic a termination, impressed these men not one whit. It was "all in the day's journey," they said, while admitting that they had been a trifle too confiding. That, however, was a fault easily remedied. But to men who habitually carry their lives in their hands, one peril more or less matters nothing. As they threaded the mountain defiles nothing could be more good humoured and genial than the young warrior's manner. He chatted and laughed, sang snatches of songs in a high nasal key, bantered Vipan on the poor condition of his nag, and challenged him to a race as soon as they were domiciled in the village. He wanted to know why Golden Face had not followed the example of other white men in the matter of squaws. Red Cloud's village could furnish some famous beauties. Golden Face was rich--he could take his choice. There would be great festivities in his honour, and the prettiest girls would be only too glad to be chosen by a man of his prowess. Thus the genial War Wolf--who amid shouts of laughter extended, or, to be more accurate, "broadened" this vein of fun. Now all this was very jolly, very entertaining; but on one point our two friends were of the same mind. Under no circumstances whatever should the sportive young barbarian be suffered to ride behind. When he stopped, they stopped; and one or two crafty attempts which he made to fall back, they, with equal deftness, resolutely defeated.