"Off, off!" cried she, threatening the dog with the butt of her rifle. "You wicked Wolf! what has got into you? Have I not told you that the thing is dead--what more do you want? Mind, sirrah!" continued she, shaking her finger significantly at the dog--"mind, my good fellow! _you_ had no part in the killing of it; and if you spoil the skin, you shall have no share in the flesh. You hear me? Not a morsel!" Wolf appeared to understand the hint and retired. Impelled by hunger, I accepted the cue: "You will not refuse a morsel to one who is starving?" "Aha! who speaks?" cried the huntress, turning round with a glance rather of inquiry than alarm. "Down, Wolf!" commanded she, as the dog bounded forward with a growl. "Down, you savage brute! Don't you hear that some one is starving? Ha! a negro! Poor devil! where can he have come from, I wonder?" Only my head was visible--a thick bush in front of me concealing my body. The coat of char upon my face was deceiving her. "No, not a negro," said I, stepping out and discovering my person--"not a negro, though I have been submitted to the treatment of one." "Ho! white, red, and black! Mercy on me, what a frightful harlequin! Ha, ha, ha!" "My toilet appears to amuse you, fair huntress? I might apologise for it--since I can assure you it is not my own conception, nor is it to my taste any more than--" "You are a white man, then?" said she, interrupting me--at the same time stepping nearer to examine me. "I was, yesterday," I replied, turning half round, to give her a sight of my shoulders, which the Indian artist had left untouched. "To-day, I am as you see." "O heavens!" she exclaimed, suddenly changing her manner, "this red? It is blood! You are wounded, sir? Where is your wound?" "In several places I am wounded; but not dangerously. They are only scratches: I have no fear of them." "Who gave you these wounds?" "Indians. I have just escaped from them." "Indians! What Indians?" "Arapahoes." "Arapahoes! Where did you encounter them?" The question was put in a hurried manner, and in a tone that betrayed excitement. "On the Huerfano," I replied--"by the Orphan butte. It was the band of a chief known as the Red-Hand." "Ha! The Red-Hand on the Huerfano! Stranger! are you sure of this?" The earnest voice in which the interrogatory was again put somewhat surprised me. I answered by giving a brief and rapid detail of our capture, and subsequent treatment--without mentioning the names of my travelling companions, or stating the object of our expedition. Indeed, I was not allowed to enter into particulars. I was hurried on by interpellations from my listener--who, before I could finish the narrative of my escape, again interrupted me, exclaiming in an excited manner: "Red-Hand in the valley of the Huerfano! news for Wa-ka-ra!" After a pause she hastily inquired: "How many warriors has the Red-Hand with him?" "Nearly two hundred." "Not more than two hundred?"