“He’s dead, by the rock of Gibraltar!” roared the bear’s master. “Them mean cusses hev killed him, but whar’s the blood?” “He has died in a different way,” replied Dave. “Look at his mouth.” Old Pegs saw at a glance how his bear had died. He had killed too many wolves with strychnine, to have any doubt of the cause of his death, and his anger broke out afresh. “Thar’s going to be war when that Velveteens and Old Pegs come together ag’in,” said the old man in an unusually quiet tone, which he only used in moments of intense passion. “I’ll raise his ha’r, or my name ain’t what it is. Come along; it is only a half day’s walk ter the spring, and they ar’ thar afore now. They’ll be up hyar by noon, the hull b’iling, and we’ve got ter be ready.” As they turned to move away there was a movement in the bushes close to them, and a savage face looked out at them, his eyes burning with intense passion. It was Whirlwind, the Blackfoot chief. He held in his hand a long bow and seemed about to fit an arrow to the string, but upon second thought replaced the bow and called to Old Pegs by name. “Let Short Legs turn back and have a talk with a great chief,” he cried. “Durn my hide,” said Old Pegs. “Whar did he come from? Shill we humor him, Dave? He seems ter be alone.” “It may benefit us much if we can make friends with him,” replied Dave. The two turned back hastily, and Whirlwind came quietly out of his place of concealment and met them. He seemed to have no fear of them, strongly armed as they were, and advanced boldly to meet them. “Whirlwind is welcome,” said Old Pegs in the Indian tongue. “Why is he here?” “Last sun Whirlwind had many braves,” replied the Indian, “but now, he has not one. The Sioux dogs trapped them like beaver, and they fell.” Old Pegs was silent, because he did not know how the Indian might regard his share in the battle of the day before. “My brothers fought against the Blackfeet, too,” continued the chief. “That was well, because the Blackfeet struck first when they did not know who they fought. Whirlwind would be a friend to Short Legs and the Beaver Captain.” “I am willing to be friends,” replied Dave, “but you put an arrow through my shoulder, yesterday.” “Yesterday we were enemies, to-day we will be friends.” “And to-morrow enemies again.” “Not if Whirlwind smokes a pipe with his white brothers. See; Whirlwind seeks vengeance on the Modoc Sioux, who have come into his country and killed his men. Short Legs and the Beaver Captain shall help him.” “Do you wish to be a friend to the man who was with us last sun?” “No!” replied the chief, sullenly. “Whirlwind will not smoke a pipe with him.” “I am glad of that,” continued Dave, “for he is our enemy. Let Whirlwind bring a pipe and we will smoke.”