"Why did we not shoot the pale-face youth and him with the color of the night, when they hastened across the open ground? It was ours to do so."
"We thought there was no escape for them, and there would not be in many moons should they run again."
"But they cannot save the Yenghese dogs, for the strong lodge shall be burned down before the sun shows itself again in the east," observed the optimist.
"Many moons ago, when the face of the sun was all fire, we tried to burn the strong lodge, but the flame ran away from us and it will do so many times more."
This was Arawa the pessimist, croaking once more, and the others scowled so fiercely upon him, that they seemed on the point of offering violence with a view of modifying his views; but, if so, they changed their minds, and one of them tendered some information:
"The sun and the winds and the moon have made the roof of the strong lodge like the wood with which Arawa makes the fire in his wigwam; it is not as it was many moons ago."
Arawa seemed on the point of opening his mouth to say that, while the moon and the winds and the sun had been engaged in the drying out process, the snows and storms and tempests had been taking part; but if such was his intention, he changed his mind and made a remark of still more vital interest to the cowen near the log.
"The pale-face dogs, and he with the countenance of the night, must have had the serpent-tongued Deerfoot to help them."
This startling statement seemed to be endorsed by the other two, one of whom said—
"Arawa speaks the truth."