Young "Wampum" sat listening to the two old hunters as they talked and chuckled, boasted and bragged, and smoked their curious stone pipes hour after hour. He was a splendid boy, this Wampum of the Mohawks, as quick and lithe as a lynx. His face was strikingly handsome, for it lacked the usual melancholy of the redman, having in its place a haughty, daring expression that gave it the appearance of extreme bravery, and even a dash of wild majesty. That he was a favorite with the older men of his tribe was generally acknowledged, for he was a magnificent hunter, an unerring shot, and, best of all, he could go without food for untold hours, always a thing to be very proud of among the Indian people. So the two old hunters told their stories and laughed over adventures with the same freedom as if the boy had not been present. "Yes," said old "Fire-Flower," beginning his story, "that was the strangest bear hunt the Grand River ever saw. These white men think they can come here and kill game, but a bear knows more than a paleface, at least that one did." "Fish-Carrier," the other hunter, nodded his head understandingly, refilled his stone pipe, and said tauntingly, "I know some Indians that don't know as much as a bear." Fire-Flower chuckled, passing the insinuation with a knowing smile. "No bear knows more than _this_ Indian," he boasted. "At least no bear I ever came across could outwit me." "We'll hear what you have to tell," answered Fish-Carrier, with great condescension. Young Wampum sat erect then. He knew the tale was going to be a good one. Teasingly, old Fire-Flower took an unnecessarily long time to "light up," but his two auditors were Indians, like himself, and had patience with his whims. Then the great hunter settled himself, and began his story by shaking his head, boastingly, and chuckling: