Wot with trappin' beavers and huntin', we three ha' made enough to set us up, an it likes us, in the Mustang Valley--" "Ha!" interrupted Dick, remitting for a few seconds the use of his teeth in order to exercise his tongue--ha! Joe, but it don't like _me_! What, give up a hunter's life and become a farmer?
I should think not!" "Bon!" ejaculated Henri, but whether the remark had reference to the grasshopper soup or the sentiment we cannot tell.
"Well," continued Joe, commencing to devour a large buffalo steak with a hunter's appetite, "ye'll please yourselves, lads, as to that; but as I wos sayin', we've got a powerful lot o' furs, an' a big pack o' odds and ends for the Injuns we chance to meet with by the way, an' powder and lead to last us a twelvemonth, besides five good horses to carry us an' our packs over the plains; so if it's agreeable to you, I mean to make a bee-line for the Mustang Valley.

We're pretty sure to meet with Blackfeet on the way, and if we do we'll try to make peace between them an' the Snakes.

I 'xpect it'll be pretty well on for six weeks afore we git to home, so we'll start to-morrow." "Dat is fat vill do ver' vell," said Henri; "vill you please donnez me one petit morsel of steak." "I'm ready for anything, Joe," cried Dick; "you are leader.

Just point the way, and I'll answer for two o' us followin' ye--eh! won't we, Crusoe ?" "We will," remarked the dog quietly.
"How comes it," inquired Dick, "that these Indians don't care for our tobacco ?" "They like their own better, I s'pose," answered Joe; "most all the western Injuns do.

They make it o' the dried leaves o' the shumack and the inner bark o' the red-willow, chopped very small an' mixed together.