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 so this seemed a good chance to plunder somebody else, instead of returning home empty-handed.

The lieutenant's face was red, as he angrily warded off the hands that clutched at his pistols and gun and horse's bridle.

"Stand firm, men!" he called. "Don't let loose of a thing—don't let them get behind us!"

"Kape your distance, you red rascals!" rasped Tom Dougherty, as they hustled him about.

"Steady! Steady!" Sergeant Meek cautioned.

"By thunder, they'd like to strip us," the doctor exclaimed.

Even Stub objected vigorously, in Pawnee. The Grand Pawnees were indeed rascals.

Guns were being cocked—click, click; several of the Pawnees, angry themselves, leveled bended bows. It was likely to be a fight between the sixteen Americans and the sixty Pawnees; and Stub sat alert, ready to pluck an arrow as quick as lightning.

"Guard those packs, men!" the lieutenant kept shouting.

But the two chiefs were working hard, shoving the warriors back, clearing a space. The head chief spoke to the lieutenant, and signed.

"He says: 'Let us talk,'" Baroney interpreted.

"Very well. Tell him we will talk or we will