“Well,” Farley groaned resignedly, “I s’pose we can stand it, if the rest of ’em can. But the good Lord knows we’ve stood ’bout enough! Dodrot it! Sometimes I think the Lord has sent all my latter trials an’ tribulations upon me, fer growlin’ ’bout whackin’ them bulls from Fort Harrison to the Prophet’s Town—I do, by flapjacks! An’ then ag’in I git to thinkin’ my punishment is jest the natur’l result o’ the heartless way I’ve used the women folks. W’y, Injin, I used to be a reg’lar heart-breaker. I didn’t have no mercy on the unfortunates that bowed down an’ worshiped my beautiful face an’ form. I was a reg’lar Apoller in them days, I was—purty as a pictur’. But look at me now! Whackin’ bulls an’ sufferin’ Injin torment has jest ’bout ruined me. Where’s my purty hair, eh? An’ look at this nose, an’ these ears, an’ this face! Injin, my beauty’s suffered a blightin’ frost—it has, by my gran’mother’s petticoat! W’y, ding-it-all-to-dangnation! A few more hard knocks, an’ I won’t look no better’n the average man—I won’t, by ginger! An’ to think that an Injin squaw—the oldest an’ ugliest one in the whole Winnebago tribe—follered an’ tagged me from Dan to Barsheber! Follered an’ tagged me till I couldn’t eat n’r sleep—an’ the frogs inside o’ me jest natur’ly got disgusted an’ quit business. It was awful—awful! Injin, clap y’r eyes upon me an’ tell me what I’ve done to deserve such a fate.” And Joe solemnly lifted his well-worn coonskin cap and faced his companion. Bright Wing looked upon his loquacious and whimsical friend and smiled, while his beady eyes twinkled; but he said nothing. Farley was indeed a comical object. His clothing hung in tatters upon his angular form; his toes peeped from his cowhide shoes. During his captivity, the Winnebagoes had essayed the hapless task of making an Indian of him. They had plucked out his scant hair, leaving his scalp bare and shiny—excepting a straw-colored tuft at the crown. They had pierced his nose and ears, and ornamented those necessary appendages with large shell rings. And, to complete the fantastic whole, had tattooed the totem of the clan, whose prisoner he was, in blue ink upon his forehead. He was a sight to excite mirth and commiseration at the same time. “Well, what do you think o’ my looks, anyhow?” he asked, when Bright Wing had finished his silent inspection and was looking toward a distant part of the inclosure. “Joe him very much pretty—heap nice sight,” the Wyandot chuckled gutturally. “Him Winnebago now—big chief.” “That’s it—that’s it!” Farley moaned lugubriously. “I knowed it—my beauty’s gone ferever! I’ll never dare to peep in a lookin’-glass ag’in—the shock ’ld be too much fer my delicate constertution to bear. By King David’s cross-eyed wives! But my punishment’s too great fer mortal man to stand! Drivin’ oxen an’ bein’ the human habitation of a colony o’ frogs wan’t enough; the Winnebagoes had to have a whack at me. An’ they’ve finished the job——” Then, with sudden animation: