For a very short space, the cloud of Indians hung upon the hill, and then, with one wild cry they swept down upon the devoted band. There was no order of battle; each rushed forward goaded by his own impulses. They raised no farther shout; every feeling seemed now absorbed in the deep, burning thirst for blood. Their adversaries displayed equal alacrity. A loud, fierce shout had answered the war-cry of the Pawnees; then all was silent; they leaped forward, prepared to give cold lead in answer to the feathered shafts of their ruder foes. As they advanced they separated, and extended their front, to prevent their being outflanked. They had now reached within about two hundred yards of each other, when a hesitation was visible in the Pawnee band. They moved slower and slower. One or two stopped, and gazed steadily at their approaching enemies: then they collected in groups, and seemed to consult. Even the Wild Horse, a savage who had revelled in blood from his infancy, dropped his uplifted war-club, and pausing, leaned upon his bow. The Long Hair drew up his haughty form, and, swinging upon his back his quiver, which had before hung in front, folded his arms, and appeared to wait passively for the approach of the opposite band. A grim smile of scorn had curled the lip of the old Iotan chief, when he first beheld the hesitation in the Pawnee ranks. For, like the chiefs of most of the neighbouring tribes, though he feared the immense hordes which belonged to that nation, yet he most heartily despised every individual of the four villages. There was an apparent acknowledgment of inferiority in this numerous band, thus hesitating to attack the handful, who challenged them to the conflict, which pleased the veteran chief; for in war, his own nation and the Konza, had always been looked upon as equals. In a moment, however, a like hesitation was observed in the ranks of the foe. They drew up and shouldered their rifles, and then moved frankly forward to meet the Pawnee warriors. The old chief was perplexed. He held his hand anxiously over his eyes, to penetrate the mystery. Suddenly a new light seemed to flash over his countenance. Waving his hand in the air, he shouted the name of his own tribe, and rushed down the hill, followed by his band. It was a party of Otoes, instead of Konzas, and the recognition which had fortunately taken place, had prevented the effusion of blood, which otherwise would have followed. The parties now drew off, keeping coldly aloof, and eyeing each other with those proud and haughty glances, which are apt to pass between rival people even when friendly. The Iotan conversed a short time with a tall, thin Indian, who appeared to have command of the hunting party, and, after leaving with him, a worn-out horse which he had brought from the Pawnee village, resumed his journey, in which he was followed by the whites, and the long train of disappointed Pawnees.