Just now, however, the old chief nursed no such thoughts. Instead, he was fostering a scheme to make his white ally a full-fledged member of the tribe by making him a squaw man. This suggestion had come, no doubt, to the watchful old chief from seeing Bud flirt with the young squaws. These dusky damsels received his sallies at first very shyly; but by degrees some of the bolder ones began to respond and chatter back in “Injun talk” when he joked with them. Bud was a socially inclined fellow. He mixed readily, and he was always girl-struck. It made little difference what the color or looks, so long as it was a girl. That he was white naturally made the young squaws more responsive to Ankanamp. He had his choice among them, but his favors were soon turned to Laughing Eyes, one of the brightest of the band, and a sister of Flying Arrow. Of course with Bud the Indian love business was but lightly thought of. It was just a temptation thrown his way; and he didn’t resist temptation. He yielded to everything that promised satisfaction for the time being, caring no whit for the consequences. Never mind the morrow; the night is here; and night is for sport--even among the Indians. The wigwam fires were blazing merrily. Around them the squaws, young and old, were bustling about, carrying wood, cutting meat, mixing dough, and getting pots and pans ready to cook the feast for their hungry bucks, who had just come whooping into camp with their spoils, and had thrown themselves upon the blankets about the littered tepees to rest. An air of unusual jollity accompanied the meal getting. They were to celebrate with a dance that night. The squaws chattered like magpies as they hurried up the meal. The papooses, catching the spirit, made themselves more numerous and mischievous than ever, for which privilege they frequently were sharply slapped. Even the dogs caught a whiff of the fun. One ragged cur, infected with the impish spirit, dared to snatch a choice bit of beef--an unpardonable crime for a dog, for which he was fetched a savage thump by an old squaw. The yelp of pain he gave woke the echoes; the dog dropped meat and tail and struck off for the woods, followed by a bunch of howling papooses, who pelted him with sticks and stones. Then the feast was spread Indian fashion, about the various lodges, served to the bucks first, who speared into the kettle with their hunting knives for pieces of meat. “Flapjacks” and coffee well sugared made up the rest of the feast. This was the common fare. Old Copperhead and the White Chief were given a somewhat choicer diet. They sat apart near their tepees. The best cuts of meat were served to them; and they had mountain trout. A dish of wild raspberries, too, was brought to Ankanamp by Laughing Eyes. He winked at her and smiled. This was enough--a rich reward for her struggle through the thorny brush and up the shelving rocks to get the dainty fruit. Her heart laughed to feel that her White Chief was pleased.