278 MULE-HUNTING EXPEDITION. 
one end of the train to the other, in a most excited 
state. 
Immediately on camping I am again thronged, 
so ride on to see the chief at his lodge, about 
four miles from camp; having first enclosed 
my mules in aring of fires, and desired my men, 
in case I do not return in two hours, to abandon 
the mules and escape as best they can. I find 
the chief’s lodge, in the centre of a very extensive 
Indian village, situated on the bank of a swift 
stream. All the lodges are dome-shaped; like 
beaver-houses, an arched roof covers a deep pit 
sunk in the ground, the entrance to which is a 
round hole; through it I descend into the sable 
dignitary’s presence, his lodge differing from 
the others only in being rather larger, and 
having more dogs and children round it. 
Face to face I stand alone with the dreaded 
chief—more like bearding a hog in its stye than 
the Forest Monarch, or the Scottish Douglas, in 
his stronghold. On a few filthy skins squats 
a flabby, red-eyed, dirt-begrimed savage, his 
regal robe a ragged blanket tied round his 
waist. Sot and sensualist are legibly written 
on his face, and greed, cruelty, and cunning 
visible in every twist of the mouth and twinkle 
of the piglike eyes. My heart misgives me 
