Though they love us not, cunning often ties their hands.

Could the red nations work their will, trees would shortly be growing again on the ploughed fields of America, and woods would be whitened with Christian bones.

No one can doubt that, who knows the quality of the love which a Red-skin bears a Pale-face; but they have counted our numbers until their memories fail them, and they are not without their policy.

Therefore is our fate unsettled; but I fear me there is small hope left for the Pawnee!" As the old man concluded, he walked slowly towards the subject of his latter observation, taking his post at no great distance from his side.

Here he stood, observing such a silence and mien as became him to manifest, to a chief so renowned and so situated as his captive associate.