two quiet figures that were lying in the shade of a maple tree. One
he recognized as the Indian with whom Jim had spent an earnest hour
that morning; the red son of the woods was wrapped in slumber. He
had placed under his head a many-hued homespun shirt which the young
preacher had given him; but while asleep his head had rolled off
this improvised pillow, and the bright garment lay free, attracting
the eye. Certainly it had led to the train of thought which had
found lodgment in Joe's fertile brain.

The other sleeper was a short, stout man whom Joe had seen several
times before. This last fellow did not appear to be well-balanced in
his mind, and was the butt of the settlers' jokes, while the
children called him "Loorey." He, like the Indian, was sleeping off
the effects of the previous night's dissipation.

During a few moments Joe regarded the recumbent figures with an
expression on his face which told that he thought in them were great
possibilities for sport. With one quick glance around he disappeared
within the cabin, and when he showed himself at the door, surveying
the village square with mirthful eyes, he held in his hand a small
basket of Indian design. It was made of twisted grass, and simply
contained several bits of soft, chalky stone such as the Indians
used for painting, which collection Joe had discovered among the
fur-trader's wares.

He glanced around once more, and saw that all those in sight were
busy with their work. He gave the short man a push, and chuckled
when there was no response other than a lazy grunt. Joe took the
Indians' gaudy shirt, and, lifting Loorey, slipped it around him,
shoved the latter's arms through the sleeves, and buttoned it in