In peace, and in his own village, the Indian is a different being. He lounges about listlessly; he will sit for hours watching the children at their games; or will stop at the different lodges to hear the floating rumours of the town. Sometimes a knot of five or six will gather together, for the sake of talking over their own domestic grievances, and abusing their wives behind their backs. Others will assemble in the prairie, and relate to the young men their exploits in battle; their success in hunting; the deeds of the different noted men of the village; always winding up with the injunction of, “Go thou and do likewise.” At a little distance from these, a single warrior may be seen lolling in the grass; warming himself in the sunshine, and drawling out a dull sleepy song, with an air of the most perfect indifference to all things, past, present, and to come. Further on, two or three may be observed strolling along the summits of the different prairie hills, and apparently keeping watch over the neighbouring country. In war an Indian is all activity—the creature of excitement; but there is not a more listless being in existence, when this grand object does not call into play the latent energies of his nature. CHAP. XXV. THE INDIAN GUARD. During our stay at the village, the crowd of visiters and pilferers increased from day to day. The chief, therefore, stationed one of the warriors at the encampment to keep off idlers and intruders of all descriptions, and above all to have a keen eye to the movements of the dogs and old women. At the same time he took occasion to let us know that though the warrior had been selected by himself, his pay would be expected to come from the hands of the Commissioner. On the following morning the guard made his appearance, and prepared to enter upon his office. He was tall and thin, with a shaved head, and a body highly painted with vermilion. He wore, or rather carried with him, a dirty blanket; which, with a small piece of blue cloth around his hips, and a ragged pair of mocassins, completed his dress, and the whole of his worldly possessions. Like most men in office, he began to hold his head higher than the rest of the world, and to look with a patronising air upon his former cronies. He forthwith commenced the discharge of his duties, with that assiduity which fully verified the trite but true proverb, “a new broom sweeps clean.” He routed the droves of vagabond children. He hunted the old squaws over the prairie, till nothing in the shape of a petticoat dared venture in the neighbourhood. And a perpetual whining and howling of curs, accompanied by the hearty thwacks of a cudgel, informed us that this portion of our visiters had also been treated with all the respect due to so numerous and busy a community.