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 old man, he had given up the horses. Some were near, and some were at the village of the Broken-arm, a half-day's march east. As for the saddles, the cache had fallen in and they might have been stolen, but he had hidden them again.

Then the Cut-nose talked. He said that the Twisted-hair was a bad old man, of two faces; that he had not taken care of the horses but had let his young men ride them, to hunt, until the Broken-arm, who was a higher chief, and he, Cut-nose, had forbidden.

"It is not well that the chiefs quarrel," reproved Captain Lewis. "Only children quarrel. We will take what horses there are here and we will go on to the village of the Broken-arm, for the other horses."

This seemed to satisfy everybody. Twisted-hair's young men brought in twenty-one of the forty-three horses and half the saddles, besides some of the powder and lead that had been buried, also. That night Cut-nose and Twisted-hair slept together.

The Broken-arm and his Nez Percés lived in one large straw-and-mud house 150 feet long. Over it was flying the United States flag that had been given to the nation on the way down last fall. Broken-arm ordered a hide tent erected for the white chiefs; his women hastened there with roots and fish; and when the captains offered to trade a lean horse for a fat one which might be killed, Broken-arm declined.

"When our guests come hungry, we do not sell them food," he declared. "We have many young