The Sun Maid: A Story of Fort Dearborn

“We can’t go home. We’ve run away, you know. Besides, there would be the same anxiety about Wahneenah. All ’s left for us is to go on.”

So the Sun Maid settled herself firmly in her saddle and followed Tempest’s rather reckless pace forward into the darkness. Memory made the dim road familiar to Gaspar, and soon the garrison lights came into sight.

But martial law is strict and the gates had been closed for the night, as the lad had feared. The sentinel on duty did not respond to his first summons with the promptness which the boy desired, so, springing to his feet upon the gelding’s back, he shouted, over the stockade:

“Entrance for two citizens of the United States! In the name of its President!”

“Ugh. There is no need for such a noise, pale-face.”

These words fell so suddenly upon Gaspar’s ears that he nearly tumbled backward from his perch. He was further amazed to see the Sun Maid leap from her horse, straight through the gloom into the arms of a tall Indian who seemed to have risen out of the ground beside them.

In fact, he had merely stepped from a canoe at the foot of the path and his moccasined feet had made no sound upon the sward as he approached. He received the girl’s eager spring with grave dignity, and immediately replaced her upon the Snowbird’s back.

“Why, Black Partridge! Don’t you know me? Aren’t you glad to see me? Four years since we said good-by, that day at poor Muck-otey-pokee.”

“I remember all things. Why is the Sun Maid here, at this hour?”

Gaspar had recovered himself and now broke into a torrent of explanation, which the chief quietly interrupted as soon as he had gathered the facts of the case.

“But don’t you think, dear Feather-man, that our Wahneenah will soon come?” demanded Kitty, anxiously.

“The gates are open. Let us enter,” he answered evasively; and the novelty of her surroundings so promptly engrossed the girl’s mind that she forgot to question him further then. Somewhere on the dimly lighted campus a bugle was sounding; and it awakened sleeping memories of her earliest childhood. So did the regular “step-step” of soldiers relieving guard. A new and delightful sense of safety and familiarity thrilled her heart, and she exclaimed, joyfully:

“Oh, Gaspar! it is home! it is home! More than the cabin, more than Other Mother’s tepee, this is home!”

“I hope it will prove so.”

“Do you suppose I will find any of the dear white ‘mothers’ who were so good to me? Or Bugler Jim, who used to play me to sleep under the trees in the corner? I wish it wasn’t so dark. I wish——”

“It’s all new, Kit. They are all strangers. The rest, you know—well, none of them are here. But these will be kind, no doubt. Yet to me, even in this dark, it seems—it seems horrible! It all comes back: that morning when I first rode Tempest. The massacre——”

The tone of his voice startled her, and she begged at once:

“Let us go right away again. I am not afraid of the storm, nor the darkness, and nothing can harm us if we pray to be taken care of. The Great Spirit always hears. Let us go.”

“It is too late. It’s beginning to rain and that man is ordering us to dismount, that he may put the horses in the stables. Jump down.”

There were always some refugees at the Fort. Just then there were more than ordinary; or, if all were not such, there were many passing travellers, journeying in emigrant trains toward the unsettled west, to make their new homes there, and these used “Uncle Sam’s tavern” as an inn of rest and refreshment.

Amid so many, therefore, small attention was paid to the arrival of these two young people. They were furnished with a plain supper, in the main living room of the building which seemed a big and dreary place, and immediately afterward were dismissed to bed. Kitty was assigned a cot among the women guests and Gaspar slept in the men’s quarters.

But neither had very comfortable thoughts, and the talk of her dormitory neighbors kept the Sun Maid long awake. Here, as in Mercy’s cabin, the dominant subject was the reward offered for the capture of the Indians, and a fresh fear set her trembling as one indignant matron exclaimed:

“There’s one of those pesky red-skins in this very Fort this night. He came with that girl yonder, but I hope he won’t be let to get away as easy. The country is overrun with the Indians, and is no place for decent white folks. They outnumber us ten to one. That’s why I’ve got my husband to sell out. We’re on our way back East, to civilization.”

“Well, if one’s come here to-night, I reckon he’ll be taken care of! Massacres are more plenty than money, and some man or other’ll make out to claim the prize. What sort of Indian was he?”

“Oh, like them all. All paint and feather and wickedness. I wish somebody’d take and hang him to the sally-port, just for an example.”

This was too much for loyal Kitty Briscoe. She could no more help springing up in defence of her friends than she could help breathing.

“You women must not talk like that! There are good Indians, and they are the best people in the world. They won’t hurt anybody who lets them alone. That Indian you’re talking against is the Black Partridge. He is splendid. He is my very oldest friend, except Gaspar. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, and he’d help everybody needed help. It’s this horrible offer of money for every Indian caught that has set my precious Other Mother wandering over the country this dark night, and made Gaspar and me homeless runaways.”

There was instant hubbub in the room, and no more desire for sleep on anybody’s part until Kitty had been made to tell her story, the story of her life as she remembered it, over and over again; and when finally slumber overtook her, even in the midst of her narrative, her dreams were filled with visions of Wahneenah fleeing and forever pursued by uniformed soldiers with glistening bayonets, who fired after her to the merry sound of a bugle and drum.

In the morning she found Gaspar and related her night’s experience. He received it gravely, without the sympathy she expected.

“Kit, I don’t understand. What you said was true, and right enough for me to say. But it’s not like you to be so bold. Yesterday, you were saucy to the harvest-women and now again to these. Is it because you are growing up so fast, I wonder? All women are not like Other Mother. They might get angry with you, and punish you. If I should go——”

“If what, Gaspar Keith?”

“Kitty, I can’t stay here. It would kill me. I must get out into the open. I am going away. Right away. Now. This very hour even. You must be brave, and understand.”

“Go away? I, too? All right. Only don’t look so sober. I don’t care. I promised to go anywhere you wished and I will. I’m ready.”

“But—but—It’s only I, my Kit. Not you.”

“You would go away, and—leave me here? Just because you don’t like it?”

All the color went out of her fair, round face, and she caught his head between her hands, and turned it so that she could look into his dark eyes, which could not bear to look into her own startled and reproachful ones.

CHAPTER XV.

“Not all because I do not like it; but because I am almost a man and I have found the chance of my life. There is one here, a voyageur, with his boat. The finest vessel I ever saw, though they’ve not been so many. He is going north into the great woods; will sail this morning. He is a great trader and hunter and he has asked me to apprentice myself to him. He promises he will make my fortune. He has taken as great a liking to me, I reckon, as I have to him. We shall get on famously together. In that broad, free life I shall grow a full man, and soon. I can earn money, and make a home for you and Wahneenah, and many another lonely, helpless soul. Yes, I must go. I can’t let the chance pass. And you must be brave, and the Sun Maid still, and forever. I shall want to think of you as always bright and full of laughter. Like yourself. But you are not like yourself now, Girl-Child. Why don’t you speak? Why don’t you say something?”

“I guess there isn’t any ‘say’ left in me, Gaspar,” answered the girl, in a tone so hopelessly sad that it almost made the lad waver in his determination. Only that wavering had no portion in the character of the ambitious youth, and he looked far forward toward a great good beyond the present pain.

When the day was well advanced, the schooner sailed away, from the dock at the foot of the path from fort to lake, with Gaspar upon her deck, trying to look more brave and manly than he really felt. But a forlorn little maid watched with eyes that shed no tears, and a pitiful attempt at a smile upon her quivering lips till the vessel became a mere speck, then disappeared.

After a long while, she was aroused by something again moving over the water.

“He’s coming back! My Gaspar’s coming back!” she cried, and tossed back the hair which the wind blew about her face that she might see the clearer. A moment later her disappointment found words: “It’s nothing but a common Indian canoe!”

However, she remembered her foster-brother had set her a task to do. She must begin it right away. She was to be as helpful to everybody she ever should meet as it was possible. Here might be one coming who hadn’t heard about that dreadful fifty-dollar prize money. She must call out and warn him. So she did, and never had human voice sounded pleasanter to any wayfarer. But her own intentness discovered something familiar in the appearance of the young brave, paddling so cautiously toward her and keeping so well to the shore. She began to question herself where she had seen him, and in a flash she remembered. Then, indeed, did she shout, and joyfully:

“Osceolo! Osceolo! Don’t you know me? Kitty? The Sun Maid? The daughter of your own tribe? Osceolo!”

“By the moccasins of my grandfather! You here? How? When? No matter. The brother of the Sun Maid rejoices. Never a friend so convenient. Run around to the edge of the wharf. There must be talk between us, and at once.”

He pushed his little boat close under the shadow of the pier that had long since been deserted of those who had come down to watch, as Kitty had done, the sailing of the northern-bound schooner. There was none to hear them, yet Osceolo chose to muffle his tones and to make himself mysterious. In truth, he was fleeing from justice, having been mixed up in a raid upon a settler’s homestead a few miles back; in which, fortunately, there had been no bloodshed, though a deal of thieving and other dirty work which would make it uncomfortable for the young warrior should he be caught just then. The story he was prepared to tell was true as far as it went; and the Sun Maid was too innocent to suspect guile in others. She thought he was referring to the prize money when he spoke of quite other matters; and after the briefest inquiry and answer as to what had befallen either since their parting at doomed Muck-otey-pokee, he concluded:

“Now, Sister-Of-My-Heart, Blood-Daughter-Of-My-Chief, you must help me. You must give me, or lend me, a horse; and you must bring me food. Then I will ride to fetch you back Wahneenah.”

“Oh! You know where she is? Can you do it and not be taken?”

“Is not the Brother of the Sun Maid now become a mighty warrior?”

“You—you don’t look so very mighty,” returned the girl, truthfully.

Osceolo frowned. “That is as one sees. Fetch me the horse and the meat, if you would have your Other Mother restored.”

“I will. I will!” she cried, and ran back to the Fort. She went first to the kitchen, and begged a meal “for a stranger that’s just come,” and the food was given her without question. Strangers were always coming to be fed; herself, also, no longer ago than the last evening.

From the kitchen to the stables, where a bright thought came to her. She would lead the Tempest to Osceolo, and herself ride the Snowbird. Together they would go to find Wahneenah.

“The black gelding?” asked the soldier of whom she sought assistance. “The hostler can maybe tell you. But I think the Black Partridge rode away on him before daybreak.”

“The Black Partridge! Oh! I had forgotten him in my trouble about Gaspar. Did any harm come to him, sir?”

“No. What harm should? If every red-skin in Illinois was like him there’d be little need of us fellows out here in this mud-hole. But you look disappointed. If you want to take a ride, there’s the white mare you came on. But you’d better not go far away. It isn’t safe for a child like you.”

“I’m not afraid, but—Well, if Tempest’s gone, I can’t. That’s all.”

So the Snowbird was brought out, and she led the pretty creature away behind the shelter of the few trees which hid the spot where Osceolo had bade her meet him.

“I tried to get Tempest for you, but the Chief has ridden him away. I meant to go with you. But you’ll have to go alone. Tell my darling Other Mother that I am here, and waiting. Tell her about Gaspar, and that he said he had found out she would be quite safe here. Why, so, I suppose, would you. I didn’t think.”

“No, I shouldn’t,” returned the young Indian hastily. Then, noting her surprise, explained:

“I’m a warrior, you see. That makes a difference.”

“It will be all right, though, I think. And if you cannot come back with Wahneenah, do hurry and send her by herself. Will you?”

“Oh, I’ll hurry!” answered the youth, evasively, and leaped to the Snowbird’s back. The food he had stuffed within his shirt till a more convenient season, and with a cry that even to Kitty’s trusting ears sounded in some way derisive, he was off out of sight along the lakeside.

As the Snowbird disappeared, Kitty felt that the last link between herself and her friends had been severed, and for a moment the tears had sway. Then, ashamed of her own weakness and remembering her promise to Gaspar that she would be “just the sunniest kind of a girl, and true to her name,” she brushed them away and entered the busy Fort, to proffer her services to the women in charge.

These had already learned her story and had reprimanded her for running away from her protectors, the Smiths; but it was nobody’s business to return her and, meanwhile, she was safe at the Fort until they should choose to call for her.

“Well, there is always plenty of work in the world for the hands that will do it,” said an officer’s wife, with a kindly smile. “You seem too small to be of much practical use; but, however, if you want a task, there are some little fellows yonder who need amusing and comforting. Their mother has died of a fever, and their father is more of a student and preacher than a nurse. I guess his wife was the ruling spirit in the household, and now that she has left him, he is sadly unsettled. He doesn’t know whether to go on and take up the claim he expected or not. He and you, and the oddly-named little sons, may all yet have to become wards of the Government.”

“I’m very sorry for him.”

“You well may be. Yet he’s a gentle, blessed old man. No more fit to marry and bring that flock of youngsters out here into the wilderness than I am to command an army. She was much younger than he, and felt the necessity of doing something toward providing for their children and educating them. But the more I talk, the more I puzzle you. Run along and lend them a hand. The very smallest Littlejohn of the lot has filled his mouth with dirt, and is trying to squall it out. See if a drink of water won’t mend matters.”

Kitty hastened to the child, and begged;

“My dear, don’t cry like that. You are disturbing the people.”

“Don’t care. I ain’t my dear; I’m Four.”

“You’re what?”

“Just Four. Four Littlejohns. What pretty hair you’ve got. May I pull it?”

“I’d rather not. Unless it will make you forget the dirt you ate.”

But the permission given, the child became indifferent to it. He pointed to three other lads crouching against the door-step, and explained:

“They’re One, Two, and Three. My father, he says it saves trouble. Some folks laugh at us. They say it’s funny to be named that way. I was eating the dirt because I was—I was mad.”

“Indeed! At whom?”

“At everybody. I’m just mis’able. I don’t care to live no longer.”

The round, dimpled face was so exceedingly wholesome and happy, despite its transient dolefulness, that Kitty laughed and her merriment brought an answering smile to the four dusty countenances before her.

“Wull—wull—I is. My father, he’s mis’able, too. So, course, we have to be. He’s a minister man. He can’t tell stories. He just tells true ones out the Bible. Can you tell Bible stories?”

“No. I—I’m afraid I don’t know much about that book. Mercy had one, but she kept it in the drawer. She took it out on Sundays, though. She didn’t let Gaspar nor me touch it. She said we might spoil the cover. That was red. It was a reward of merit when she was a girl. It had clasps, and was very beautiful. It had pictures in it, too, about saints and dead folks; but I never read it. I couldn’t read it if I tried, you know, because I’ve never been taught.”

This was amazing to the four book-crammed small Littlejohns. One exclaimed, with superior disgust:

“Such a great big girl, and can’t read your Bible! You must be a heathen, and bow down to wood and stone.”

“Maybe I am. I don’t remember bowing down to anything, except when I say my prayers.”

“Your prayers! Then you can’t be a real heathen. Heathens don’t say prayers, not our kind. Hmm. What lovely eyes you’ve got and how pretty you are! All the women never saw such wonderful hair as yours, nor the men either. I heard them say so. If I had a sister, I’d like her to look just like you. But it’s wicked to be vain.”

“What do you mean, you funny boy?”

“I’m not funny. I’m serious. My mother—my mother said—my mother—Oh! I want her! I want her!”

Religion, superiority, priggishness, all flew to the winds as his real and fresh grief overcame him; and it was a heart-broken lad that hurled himself against the shoulder of this sympathetic-looking girl who, though so much taller, was not so very much older than he.

The Sun Maid’s own heart echoed the cry with a keen pain, and she received the orphan’s outburst with exceeding tenderness. Now, whatever One, the eldest, did the other young numerals all imitated, so that each was soon weeping copiously. Yet, from very excess of energy, their grief soon exhausted itself and they regarded each other with some curiosity. Then Three began to smile, in a shamefaced sort of way, not knowing how far his recovery of composure would be approved by sterner One.

After a habit familiar to him the latter opened his lips to reprove but, fortunately, refrained, as he discovered a tall, stoop-shouldered man crossing the parade-ground.

This gentleman seemed oddly out of place amid that company of immigrants and soldiers. Student and bookworm was written all over his fine, intellectual countenance, and his eyes had that absent expression that had made the commandant’s wife call him a “dreamer.”

His bearing impressed the Sun Maid with reverent awe; a feeling apparently not shared by his sons. For Three ran to him and shook him violently, to secure attention, as he eagerly exclaimed:

“Oh, father! We’ve found one of ’em already! A heathen. Or, any way, a heatheny sort of a girl, but not Indian. She doesn’t know how to read, and she hasn’t any Bible. Come and give her one and teach her quick!”

“Eh? What? A heathen? My child, where?”

“Right there with my brothers. That yellow-headed girl. She’s nice. Are all the heathen as pretty as she is?”

“My son, that young person? Surely, you are mistaken. She must be the daughter of some resident at the Fort, or of some traveller like ourselves.”

“I don’t believe she is. She’s been taking care of herself all day. I haven’t heard anybody tell her ‘Don’t’ once. If she belonged to folk they’d do it wouldn’t they?”

“Very likely. Parents have to discipline their young. Don’t drag me so. I’m walking fast enough.”

“That’s what I say, father. ‘Don’t’ shows I belong to you. But I do wish you’d come. She might get away before you could catch her.”

“Catch her, Three? I don’t understand.”

“I know it. My mother used to say you never did understand plain every-day things. That’s why she had to take care of you the same as us. Oh! I wish we’d never come to this horrid place.”

The reference to his wife and the child’s grief roused the clergyman more completely than even an appeal for the heathen. Laying his thin hand tenderly upon the small rumpled head, he stroked it as he answered:

“In my flesh I echo that wish, laddie; but in my spirit I am resigned to whatever the Lord sends. If there is a heathen here, there is His work to do, and in that I can forget my own distress. I will walk faster if you wish.”

The other small Littlejohns, with Kitty, now joined their father and Three, the girl regarding him with some curiosity, for he was of a stamp quite different from any person she had ever seen. But he won her instant love as, holding out his hands in welcome, he exclaimed:

“Why, my daughter! Surely the lads were jesting. You look neither ignorant nor heathen, and in personal gifts the Lord has been most kind to you.”

“Has He? But I am rather lonely now.”

“And so am I. Therefore, we will be the better friends. Why, sons, this is just what we need to make our group complete. Maybe, lassie, your parents will spare you to us, now and then.”

“I have no parents. I am a ward of Government, though I don’t understand it. I wish—are you too busy to hear my story, and will you advise me? Gaspar told me some things, but he’s not old and wise like you, dear sir.”

“Old I am, indeed, but far from wise. Though, so well as I know I will most gladly counsel you. Let us go yonder, to that shady place beside the great wall, where there are benches to rest on and quiet to listen in.”

Now small Four Littlejohns had heard a deal about heathen. They had been the dearest theme of all the stories told him, and he caught his father’s hand with a detaining grasp:

“She might eat you all up, father!”

“Boy, what are you saying?”

“She isn’t like the picture in my story-book of the heathen that lived in India, and all the people worshipped, that was named a god, One told me when I asked him; but I guess heathens can change like fairies; and, please don’t go, father, don’t!”

“Nonsense, Four. What trash are you talking? It is you who are the heathen now.”

“I, father? I!”

In horror of a possible change in his person, the child began to feel of his plump face and pinch his fat body. He even imagined he was stiffening all over. Suddenly, he drew his wide mouth into a grotesque imitation of the engraving as he remembered it, planting his feet firmly and setting up a tragic wail.

“I’m not like him. I won’t be. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!”

Kitty understood nothing but the evident distress, which she attempted to soothe and merely aggravated.

“Get away! Don’t you touch me! You go away home and sit on a table with your legs all crooked up—so; and stop playing you’re a regular girl. Leave go my father’s hand, I say!”

Then One came to the rescue. As soon as he could stop laughing, he explained the situation to the others, and though the incident seemed a trivial one to the younger people to the good Doctor it was weighty with reproach for the ignorance he had permitted in his own household. It also had its far-reaching results; for it led him to observe the Sun Maid critically, and, when he had heard her simple story, to ask out of the fulness of his own big heart:

“Will you come and share our home with us, my daughter? Surely, you have much good sense and many wonderful gifts. The Lord has thrown us into one another’s company, and I believe you can, in large measure, take their mother’s place to these sons of mine. Will you come and live in our home, dear Sun Maid?”

“Indeed, I will! And love you for letting me!” cried the grateful girl, catching the Doctor’s hand and kissing it reverently.

But it did not occur to either of these innocents that there was, at that time, no home existing for them.

CHAPTER XVI.

“Everybody! I guess you’re wanting,” reproved the elder son of the minister. For, during the time of building, short though it was, the orphan girl had become wholly identified with the Littlejohns’ household and felt as full a right to the cabin as if it had been her own especial property.

Now, suddenly, as she stood in the doorway there came into her mind the prophecy of old Katasha; and she looked afar, as if she saw visions and heard voices denied to the others. So rapt did her gaze become that little Four stole his pudgy hand into hers and inquired, beneath his breath:

“What is it, Kitty? What do you see?”

“I see crowds and crowds of people. Of all sorts, all forms, all colors, all races. Crowding, crowding, and yet not crushing. Only coming, more—and more—and more. I see strange buildings. Bigger than any pictures in that book you showed me yesterday. They keep rising and spreading out on every side. I see ships on the lake; curious ones, with tall masts, a hundred times taller than that in which my Gaspar sailed away. They are so laden with people and stuff that I—I—it seems to choke me!”

She did not notice that the Doctor had drawn near and was listening intently; and even when his hand touched her shoulder she found it difficult to comprehend what he was saying.

“Wake up, lassie! Why, what is this? My practical new daughter growing a star-gazer, like the foolish old man? That won’t do for our little housekeeper.”

“Won’t it, sir? I guess I’ve been dreaming. But I know I shall see all that some day, right here in this spot. This is the lake where the big ships sail, and this the ground where the houses stand.”

One was at hand with his ever-ready reproof.

“That’s all nonsense, Kitty Briscoe. A person can’t see more than a person can. There are neither houses nor ships, such as you talk about, and you are sillier than any fairy story I ever read.”

Yet long afterward he was to remember that first hour in the new home, and the rapt face of the girl gazing skyward.

Then they all went in to supper, which had been provided by the thoughtful friends at the Fort across the river; but which, the Sun Maid assured the busy women there, must be the only meal supplied that was ready prepared.

“For, if I’m to be housekeeper I mean to learn all about that, even before I do the books, which the Doctor will teach me and that I am so eager to study. But I’ll be his home-maker first, and I’ll give them jonny-cake for breakfast. Mercy said it was cheap and wholesome, and we have to be very careful of the Doctor’s little money.”

How wholesome, rather how most unwholesome, that first jonny-cake proved, Kitty never after liked to recall; but she was not the only young house mistress who has made mistakes; and, fortunately, the master of the house was not critical. And how far the study-craving girl would have carried out her own plan of housewifery before reading is not known; for, having done the best she could, and having, at least, swept and dusted the rooms carefully she took little Four by the hand and set out to ask instruction of her Fort friends against the dinner-getting.

Now the fascinating dread and interest of this little fellow was an Indian; and, trudging along through the dirt, he scanned the horizon critically, then suddenly gripped her hand hard and tight.

“Kitty! I do believe—there are—some coming! Run! Run!”

“Why should I run? The Indians are my best and oldest friends. It might even be——”

She paused so long, shading her eyes from the sunlight and gazing fixedly across the landscape with a gathering surprise and delight upon her face, that the child clutched her frock, demanding:

“What is it, Kitty? What do you see? What do you see?”

“The horses! White, black, and—Chestnut! It’s Wahneenah! Wahneenah!”

Four watched her disappear behind a clump of bushes that hid the sandhills from his lower sight, then hurried back to the new cabin, crying out:

“Father, father! She’s run away again! We’ve lost her!”

Before the minister could be made to comprehend his son’s excited story, voices without drew him to the entrance. Even to him the name of Indian had, in those days, a sinister significance. Yet, as he reached the threshold, there were the Sun Maid’s arms about his neck and her ecstatic declaration:

“It’s my darling Other Mother! She’s come! She’ll live with us! And the Black Partridge; and Osceolo, and Tempest, and Snowbird, and the Chestnut! Oh, all together again; how happy we shall be!”

“Eh? What? Yes, yes, of course,” assented the Doctor, though he cast a rather perplexed glance about his limited apartments. “Well, if it’s to be part of my work, I am ready,” he added resignedly, and not without thought of the quiet study which would be out of the question in a tenement so crowded.

The chief and the clergyman had met before, during the former’s last visit to the Fort, and they greeted each other suavely, as would two white gentlemen of culture and unquestioned standing. Then, while the Sun Maid drew Wahneenah aside and exhibited the cabin, the two men talked together and rapidly became friends.

“The Lord never shuts one door but He opens another. I came here to instruct, hoping to pass far onward into the wilderness. Behold! the heathen are at my very threshold. He took away my wife and sent me a daughter. Now, at her heels, follows a woman of the race I came to help, who looks more noble than most of her white sisters. As the Sun Maid said, shall we not do? Only—where to house them?”

“That is soon settled. Neither the chief’s daughter nor the youth, Osceolo, could sleep beneath the tight roof of the pale-face. Their wigwams shall be pitched behind this cabin, and there will they abide. So will I arrange with the people at the Fort, who are my friends. Yet, let the great medicine-man keep a sharp eye to the young brave, Osceolo. He is my kinsman. There is good in the youth, and there is, also, evil—much evil. He lies upon the ground to dream wild schemes, then rises up to practise them. He is like the pale-faces—by birth a liar. He is not to be trusted. Only by fear does he become as clay in the hands of the potter. If my brother, the great medicine-man, will accept this charge I ask of him there shall be always venison in plenty, and bear’s meat, and the flesh of cattle, at his door. He shall have corn from the fields of the scattered Pottawatomies, and the fuel for his hearth-fire shall never waste. How says my brother, the wise medicine-man?”

“What can I say but that the Black Partridge is as generous as he is brave, and that his readiness to support a minister of the gospel amazes me? In that more settled East, from which I came, the rich men gave grudgingly to their pastor of such things as themselves did not need, and I was always in poverty. Therefore, for the sake of my sons, I came hither. Truly, in this wilderness, I have received evil at the hand of the Lord; but I have, also, received much good. If He wills, from this humble tenement shall go forth a blessing that cannot be measured. Leave the woman and the undisciplined youth with me. I will deal with them as I am given wisdom.”

This was the beginning of a new, rich life for the Sun Maid. It opened to Wahneenah, also, a period of unbroken happiness. The minister, over whose household affairs she promptly assumed a wise control, honored her with his confidence and abided by her clear-sighted counsel. She was constantly associated with her beloved Girl-Child, and could watch the rapid development of her intellect and all-loving heart.

Indeed, Love was the keynote to Kitty Briscoe’s character; and out of love for everybody about her, and especially in hope to be of use to her Indian friends, sprang the greatest incentive to study.

“The more I know, the better I can help them to understand,” she said to Wahneenah, who agreed and approved.

The years sped quietly and rapidly by, as busy years always do. Some changes came to the little settlement of Chicago, but they were only few; until, one sunny day in spring, there reached the ears of the Sun Maid a sudden cry that seemed to turn all the months backward, as a scroll is rolled.

Bending above her table, strewn with the Doctor’s notes which she was copying, in the pleasant room of a big frame house that was one of the few new things of the town, she heard the call; dimly at first, as an out-of-door incident which did not concern herself. When it was repeated, she started visibly, and cried out:

“I know that voice! That’s Mercy Smith! There was never another just like it!”

She sprang up and ran to answer, shouting in return:

“Halloo! What is it?”

“Help!”

A few rods’ run beyond the clump of trees that bordered the garden revealed the difficulty. A heavy wagon, loaded with bags of grain, was mired in the mud of the prairie road. A woman stood upright in the vehicle, lashing and scolding the oxen, which tried, but failed, to extricate the wheels from the clay that held them fast.

“I’m coming! I’m Kitty! And, Mercy—is it really you?”

“Well, if I ain’t beat! You’re Kitty, sure enough! But what a size!”

“Yes. I’m a woman now, almost. How glad I am to see you! How’s Abel? Where is he?”

“Must be glad, if you’d let so many years go by without once comin’ to visit me.”

“I didn’t know that you’d be pleased to have me. I didn’t treat you well, to leave you as I did. But where’s Abel?”

“Home. Trying to sell out. My land! How pretty you’ve growed! Only that white dress and hair a-streamin’; be you dressed for a party, child?”

“Oh, no, indeed! I’ll run and get something to help you out with, if you’ll be patient.”

“Have to be, I reckon, since I’m stuck tight. No hurry. The oxen’ll rest. I’ve heard about you, out home—how ’t you’d found a rich minister to take you in an’ eddicate you, an’ your keepin’ half-Indian still. Might have taught you to brush your hair, I ’low; an’ from appearances you’d have done better to have stayed with me. You hain’t growed up very sensible, have you?”

The Sun Maid laughed, just as merrily and infectiously as when she had first crept for shelter into Mercy Smith’s cabin.

“Maybe not. I’m not the judge. I’ll test my wisdom, though, by trying to help you out of that mud. I’ll be back in a moment.”

She turned to run toward the house, but Mercy remonstrated:

“You can’t help in them fine clothes. Ain’t there no men around?”

“A few. Most of them are out of the village on a big hunting frolic. We’ll manage without.”

“Humph! They’d better be huntin’ Indians.”

The girl looked up anxiously. “Is there any trouble?”

“Always trouble where the red-skins are.”

Kitty departed, and the settler’s wife watched her with feelings of mingled admiration, anger, and astonishment.

“She’s grown, powerful. Tall an’ straight as an Indian, an’ fair as a snowflake. Such hair! I don’t wonder she wears it that way, though I wouldn’t humor her by lettin’ on. I’ve heard she did it to please her ‘tribe’ an’ the old minister. Well, there’s always plenty of fools. They’re a crop ’at never fails.”

The Sun Maid reappeared. She had not stopped to change her white gown, but she brought a pair of snow-shoes, and carried three or four short planks across her strong, firm shoulder.

“My sake! Ain’t you tough! I couldn’t lift one them planks, rugged as I call myself, let alone four. But—snow-shoes in the springtime?”

“Yes. I’ve learned a way for myself of helping the many who get mired out here. See how quickly I can set you free.”

Putting on the shoes, the girl walked straight over the mud, and throwing down the planks before the animals, encouraged them to help themselves.

“What are their names? Jim and Pete? Come on, my poor beasts; and, once clear, you shall have a fine rest and feed.”

“Shucks! There! Go on! Giddap! Gee! Haw!”

There followed a time of suspense, but at last the oxen gained a little advance, when Kitty promptly moved the planks forward, and in due time the wagon rolled out upon a firmer spot.

“Well, Kitty girl, you may not have sense, but you’ve got what’s better—that’s gumption. And that’s Chicago, is it?”

“Yes. I hope you like it.”

“I’ve got to, whether or no. I’m in awful trouble, Kitty Briscoe, an’ it’s all your fault.”

“What can you mean?”

“Abel—Abel——”

“Yes—yes! What is it?”

“Ever sence you run away he’s been pinin’ to run after you. Said the house wasn’t home no more. ’Twasn’t; though I wouldn’t let on to him. We’ve kept gettin’ comfortabler off, an’ I jawed him from mornin’ to night to make him contented. But he wouldn’t listen. Got so he wouldn’t work home if he could help it, but lounged round the neighbors’. Got hankerin’ to go somewheres, an’ keep tavern, like his father afore him. Now, we’ve got burnt out——”

“Burned out! Oh, Mercy, that is trouble, indeed! Tell me—No, wait. Let us go and get something to eat first; and what were you intending to do with that load of stuff?”

“Ship it East, if I can. I’ve heard there was consid’able that business bein’ done. Or sell it to the Fort folks.”

“I think they’ll be glad of it; they are always needing everything. I’ll go with you there, and your team can be left there, too, till Abel comes.”

“Abel! You don’t think I’d leave him to manage business, do you?”

“I thought you said he was now staying behind to sell out—to ‘manage.’”

“He’s stayin’ to try. There’s a big difference ’twixt tryin’ an’ doin’. He can’t sell, not easy. And some day, when this whim of his is over, we’ll go back an’ settle again, or move farther on. It’s gettin’ ruther crowded where we be for comfort, these days.”

“Crowded? Are there many new neighbors?”

“Lots. Some of ’em ain’t more ’n a mile away, an’ I call that too close for convenience. Don’t like to have folks pokin’ their noses into my very door-yard, so to speak.”

“How will you endure it here, where, according to your ideas, the houses are so very close?”

“I don’t expect to like it. But, pshaw! They be thick, ain’t they? I declare it makes me think of out East, an’ our village; only that wasn’t built on the bottomless pit, like this.”

“This is the Fort. After you’ve finished your business with the officer in charge, we’ll go home and get our dinner.”

The stranger observed with surprise and some pride the great respect with which this girl, who had once been under her own care, was treated by all she met. The few soldiers on duty that morning saluted her with a smile and military precision, while the women hailed her coming with exclamations of:

“Oh, Kitty! You here? I’m so glad; for I wanted to ask you about my work”; or: “Say, Kit! There are a lot of new newspapers, only a week old, that I’ve hidden for you to read first before the others get hold of them.”

One called after her, as they started homeward:

“How are the sick ones to-day?”

“What did she mean?” demanded Mercy.

“Oh, that house on the edge of the village is a sort of hospital and school combined. I am there most of the time, though my real home is with the Littlejohns, just as it has always been; though the Doctor is not rich, as you fancied, in anything save wisdom and goodness.”

“You’re a great scholar now, Kitty, I s’pose—could even do figurin’ an’ writin’ letters.”

“I can do that much without being a ‘scholar.’ I’ve learned all sorts of things that came my way, from civil engineering—enough to survey lots for people—to a little Greek. The surveying was taught me by a man who was in our sick-room, and in gratitude for the care we gave him. It’s very useful here.”

“Can you sing, or play music?”

“I always sang, you know; and I can play the violin to guide the hymns ‘in meeting.’”

“What’s that? A fiddle—to hymns!”

“Yes. Why not, since it’s the only instrument we have?”

“My land! You’ll be dancin’ at worship next!”

“Maybe. There are religious people who dance at their services. But here we are. This is the Doctor’s house, and you’ll meet Wahneenah.”

“Wahneeny! You don’t tell me that good, pious parson is consortin’ with that bad-tempered Indian squaw!”

“Wait, Mercy. You must not speak like that of her, nor think so. She is as my very own mother. She is nobility itself. Everybody acknowledges that. I want there should be peace, even if there can’t be love, between you two. It’s better, isn’t it, to understand things in the beginning?”

“Hmm! You can speak your mind out yet, I see. But that’s all right. I don’t care, child. I don’t care. It does my old eyes good just to look at you; an’, for once, I’ll ’low Abel was right in wantin’ to move out here. I’m lookin’ for him ’fore night, by the way. But hold on! Who’s that out in the back yard, with feathers in his hair, an’ a blue check shirt, grinnin’ like a hyena, an’ a knife stickin’ out his pocket? Wait till I get hold of him, my sake!”

Mercy’s words poured out without breathing-space or stop, and the Sun Maid laughed as she replied:

“Why, that’s only Osceolo. Do you know him?”

“Kitty Briscoe! All the wild horses in Illinois can’t make me believe no different but ’twas him set our barn afire!”

“When? He’s not been away—for some days.”

“Wait till he catches sight of me!”

But when the young Indian did turn around, and saw the pair watching him, he coolly walked toward them, regarding Mercy as if she were an utter stranger, and one whom he was rather pleased to meet.

“Friend of yours, Sun Maid? Glad to see her.”

“Glad to see me, be you? Wait till Abel Smith comes an’ identifies you. Then see which side the laugh’s on, you—you——”

“Osceolo is my name, ma’am.”

Foreseeing difficulties, the girl guided her guest into the kitchen, where Wahneenah was preparing dinner, and where the Indian woman greeted her old acquaintance with no surprise and, certainly, without any of the effusiveness that, for once, rather marked Mercy’s manner toward her former “hired girl.”

“Well, it’s a real likely house, now, ain’t it? I’d admire to see the minister. It’s years since I saw one. Is he about?”

Kitty answered:

“Yes. He is studying. I rather hate to disturb him; but at dinner you will meet him.”

“Studying! Studying what? Why, I thought he was an old man.”

“He is. So old, I sometimes fear we will not have him with us long.”

“What’s the use learnin’ anything more, then?”

“One can never know too much, I fancy. Just at present he is writing a dictionary of the Indian dialects, so far as he has been able to obtain them.”

“The—Indian—language! He wouldn’t be so silly, now come!”

“He is just so wise. It is a splendid work. I am proud to be his helper, even by just merely copying his papers.”

“Well! You could knock me down with a feather! One thing—I sha’n’t never set under his preachin’. I wouldn’t demean myself. The idee!”

“Mercy, do you remember the red-covered Bible? Have you it still?”

“Course. I wouldn’t let anything happen to that. It was a reward of merit. It’s wrote in the front: ‘To Mercy Balch, for being a Good Girl.’ That was me afore I was married. It’s in my carpet-bag. I mean to have it buried with me. I wouldn’t never sp’ile it by handlin’.”

“I hope you’ll use it now, for it’s so easy to get another. The Doctor will give you one at any time. The Bible Society in the East furnishes all he needs.”

Dinner was promptly ready, and, after it was over, the Sun Maid carried her old friend away with her to the government building, which was not only hospital, but schoolhouse and land-office all in one. Everything here was so new and interesting to Mercy that surprise kept her silent; until, happening to glance through the window, she beheld a rough-looking man approaching on horseback.

“Pshaw! there’s Abel! Wait an’ see him stick where I stuck!” she chuckled. “Well, he sold out sudden, didn’t he? He’d better come in the wagon, but he ’lowed he’d enjoy a ride all by himself. I reckon he’s had it. See him stare and splash! There he goes! See that old nag flounder!”

Kitty sprang up and ran to welcome him, the heartiest of love in her clear tones.

“Why, bless my soul! If I thought it could be, I should say it was my own lost little Kit!”

As he gazed his rugged face grew beautiful in its wondering joy.

“Oh, Abel! That’s the way Chicago receives her new citizens! She plants them so deep in the mud that they can’t get away! But wait. I’ll help you out the same way I did Mercy, and then I’ll get my arms about your neck, you dear old Abel!”

“Help me out? Not much! Not when there’s such a pretty girl a few feet away waitin’ to kiss my homely face!” and, with a spring that was marvellous to see, the woodsman leaped from his horse and landed on the higher sod beside his “Kit.”

“Well, well! To think it! Just to think it once! Well, well, well! How big you are, Kit! My, my, my; and as sweet to look at as a locust tree in bloom, with your white frock, an’ all. I’ve got here at last! I can’t scarce believe it. And, lassie, are you as close-mouthed as you used to be when you made a promise? Then—don’t tell Mercy; but—I done it a-purpose!”

“Did what? Let us get the poor horse out of the mud before we talk.”

“Shucks! He ain’t worth pullin’ out. If he ain’t horse enough to help himself, let him stay there a spell, an’ think it over. He’ll flounder round——”

“You don’t know our mud, Abel.”

“He’s all right. He’s helpin’ himself. He’s makin’ a genuine effort. A man—or horse—that does that is sure to win. That’s how I put it to myself. After I’d wrastled with the subject up hill an’ down dale, till I couldn’t see nothin’ else in the face of natur’, I done it. Out in the East, where I come from, they’d ’a’ had me up for it; an’ I don’t know but they will here. But I had to, Kit, I had to. I was dead sick an’ starvin’ for a sight of you an’ the boy, an’ mis’able with blamin’ myself that I hadn’t treated you different when I had you, so you wouldn’t have run away. You was a master hand at that business, wasn’t you, girl? I hope you’ve quit now, though.”

“I think so. Here I was born, and here I hope to stay. All my runnings have begun and ended here. But what did you do, Father Abel?”

“Oh, Sis! that name does me good. Promise you’ll never tell,—not till your dyin’ day.”

“I can’t promise that; but I’ll not tell if I can help it.”

“Well, you always had a tender conscience. Yet I can trust your love better ’n ary promise. Well—I—burnt—it!”

“Burned it? Your house? Your home? Yours and Mercy’s? Why—Abel!”

The pioneer squared his mighty shoulders, and faced her as a defiant child might an offended mother.

“Yes, I did. The house, the bed-quilts, the antiquated bedstead, the whole endurin’ business. It was the only way. Year after year she’d keep naggin’ for me to move on further into the wilderness. Me, that was starvin’ for folks, an’ knew she was! It was just plumb lonesomeness made her what she is: a nagger. So, at last—you’ve heard about worms turnin’, hain’t you? I watched, an’ when she’d gone trudgin’ off on a four-mile tramp, pretendin’ somebody’s baby was sick, but really meanin’ she was that druv to hear the sound of another woman’s voice, I took pity on her—an’ myself—an’ set fire to that hateful old heirloom of a bedstead; an’ whilst it was burnin’ I just whipped out the old fiddle, an’ I played—my! how I played! Every time a post fell into the middle, I just danced. ‘So much nearer folks!’ I thought. And the rag-carpet an’ the nineteen-hunderd-million-patch-bedspread—Kit, I’ve set there, day after day, an’ seen Mercy cuttin’ up whole an’ decent rags, an’ sewin’ ’em together again, till I’ve near gone stark mad. Fact. I used to wonder if it wasn’t a sort of craziness possessed her to do that foolishness. Now, it’s all over. She lays the fire to an Indian feller that I’ve spoke fair to, now an’ again, an’ that had been round our way huntin’ not long before. I don’t know where he come from, an’ I never asked him. He never told. Pretended he couldn’t talk Yankee. Don’t know as he could, but he could talk chicken or little pig fast enough. Leastways, I missed such after he’d been there. Well, it wasn’t him. It was—me! I burnt the bedstead, an’ now we’re free folks!”

“But, Abel, why not have brought the bedstead with you, if she loved it so? Why destroy——”

“Sissy, you don’t know Mercy—not as I do. It was that furniture kept her. So long as she had it, so long as she could kind of boast it over her neighbors, there she’d set. We couldn’t have moved it. She near worried herself into her grave gettin’ it into the wilderness, first off, an’ she ain’t so young now as she was then. She’d ruther lost a leg than had it scratched. I saved that load of feed, an’ the ox team, an’ the old horse. Yes, an’ my fiddle. Mercy’s got money. She had it hid. I’m goin’ to settle here an’ keep tavern, if I can. If not here, then somewheres else. Anywhere where there’s folks. Trees are nice; prairies are nice; a clearin’ of your own is nice; but human natur’ is nicer. Don’t tell Mercy, though, or there’ll be trouble! Now, Kit, where’s Gaspar?”

“Oh, Abel! Only the dear Lord knows!”

CHAPTER XVII.

“Shucks!” groaned the pioneer, as these words reached him where he stood beside the Sun Maid, eager to hear what she could tell him of the lad Gaspar. “Shucks! I’ve had a right peaceful sort of day, me and old Dobbin, and I’d most forgot it couldn’t last. Say, Kit, you look like a girl could do a’most ary thing she tried to. Just put your shoulder to the wheel, won’t you, and shut the power off Mercy’s tongue. Tell her ’tain’t the fashion for women to talk much or loud, not in big settlements like this. She’s death on the fashion, Mercy is. Why, that last gown of hers, cut out a piece of calico a neighbor brought from the East—you’d ought to see it. She got hold a picture-book, land knows when or where, and copied one the pictures. Waist clean up to her neck, it’s so short, and sleeves big enough to make me a suit of clothes. Fact! Wait till you see it. She’s a sight, I tell you. But so long ’s she thinks it’s a touch beyond, why she’s happy. But don’t let her talk so much. ’Tain’t proper; not in settlements.”

The Sun Maid set her head on one side and regarded her old friend critically; then frankly, if laughingly, remarked:

“Abel, you dear, you can beat Mercy talking, by a great length. It’s funny to hear you blaming her for the very thing you do. But I like it. You can’t guess how I like it, and how it brings back my childish days in the forest. Now come in and get something to eat. Then we can have another talk.”

“I ain’t hungry. I had some doughnuts in my saddle-bags, and I munched them along the road. Say, Kit. Don’t tell Mercy; but I didn’t try to sell. Just put the question once, so to satisfy her when she asked. We hain’t no need. She’s got a lot of money in a buckskin bag tied round her waist. The land’s all right. It’s a good investment. I’ll let it stand. This country is bound to grow. Some day it will be worth a power, and then I’ll sell out, if I’m livin’; and if I ain’t, you can. One of the reasons I came was to fix things up for you. I always meant to make you my legatee. We’ve no kith nor kin nigh enough to worry about, Mercy an’ me; an’ I ’low she’d be agreeable. So we’ll let the land lie. Oh, bosh! There she is, calling again. May as well go in for she won’t stop till we do.”

After all, there was real pleasure in the faces of both husband and wife at their reunion, short though their separation had been, and bitter though their words sounded to a stranger; and, already, there was a personal pride in Mercy’s tones as she exhibited the house over which the Sun Maid presided, and explained the details—supplied by her own imagination—of its purposes.

“But about Gaspar, Mercy. Has she told you anything about him yet? I’m ’lowing to have him help me keep tavern if he’s grown up as capable as he promised when he was a little shaver.”

“No. She hain’t said a word. Fact is, I hain’t asked. We’ve been too busy with other things. Likely he’s round somewheres. Maybe off hunting with them lazy soldiers. Shame, I think. The Government keepin’ ’em just to loaf away their time.”

“Hmm! What on earth else could they do with it? I met a man, coming along, said there’d been a right sharp lot of wolves prowlin’ this winter an’ spring. They’re gettin’ most too neighborly for comfort for the settlers across the prairies, so the military are trying to clear them out. That’s not a bad idee. But don’t it beat all! That little sissy, that used to have to stand on a three-legged stool to turn the stirabout, grown like she has? I never saw a finer woman, never; and her hair’s the same dazzlin’ kind it always was. I ’low I’m proud of her, and no mistake. Hello! What’s yonder? An Indian, on horseback, a-stoppin’ to this place! What’s he after? His face is painted black, too. There’s Sunny Maid going out to talk with him, and Wahneeny, too. Must be somethin’ up.”

“There’s always somethin’ up, where there’s an Indian. I hate ’em, an’ they know it.”

“I guess they do, ma. Wahneeny, for instance, and—Shucks! That long, lanky, copper-face out back there, settin’ flat on the ground, trying to pitch jack-knives with a lot of other boys, white ones; he’s the chap that hung around our place so much—the chicken-stealer. I’m going to speak to him.”

“And I’m going to get him took up, just as soon as the Captain gets back, for setting our house afire. It wouldn’t have happened if I’d been home; but you never could be trusted to look after things.”

Abel thought it time to change the subject, and retreated, while Mercy’s attention became riveted upon the group before the house. The faces of all three were very grave, and Wahneenah, who had come across to nurse a sick child, paid no heed to its fretful calls for her. The Indian horseman tarried but a brief time, then wheeled about and rode westward over the prairie, avoiding the regular road and the mud where the Smiths had suffered such annoyance.

Wahneenah returned to her charge, and the Sun Maid disappeared in the direction of the Fort. Before Mercy could decide whether to follow or not, the girl reappeared, and her old friend viewed her with amazement. She had mounted the Snowbird, which looked no older than when Mercy had watched her gallop away across the prairie, and had slung the famous White Bow upon her saddle horn. About her floating hair she had wound a fillet of white beads and feathers, and fastened the White Necklace of Lahnowenah, the Giver, around her fair throat. She sat her horse as only one trained to the saddle from infancy could have done, and her commanding figure seemed perfect in every outline.

“To the land’s sake! Ain’t she splendid! I never saw such a sight. Never. Never. Abel! Abel! A-b-e-l!!”

“Yes, yes; what? Mercy, Mercy Smith, hold your tongue! Don’t you know folks can’t bawl in a settlement as they do in the backwoods? What ails you? I’m coming as fast as a man in reason can. Hey? Kitty? Well, why didn’t you say so? Where? Out front? My—land! Well, well, well! It ain’t—it can’t be—it is! Well, Kitty girl, you beat the Dutch!”

The young horsewoman rode up to the front door of her house, and paused to let her old friends admire her to their satisfaction. But their admiration aroused neither surprise nor vanity in her simple, straightforward mind. Years before, the old clergyman had said to her, upon their first meeting, that the Lord had been very good to her in giving her a beauty so remarkable and impressive; and under his wise instruction she had accepted the fact as she did all the others of her life. Only she had striven to keep her soul always worthy of the glorious form in which it was housed and to use all her gifts and graces for good. So she stood a while, letting the honest couple inspect and comment, and finally answering Abel’s curiosity, in honest modesty.

“Why am I so dressed up? Because I have a mission to perform, and I need to make myself as beautiful as possible.”

“Kit—ty Bris—coe! I’ve read in my red Bible that ‘favor is deceitful and beauty is vain.’ I’m amazed at you. Livin’ with a minister, too. Well, he can’t preach to me. I’d despise to set under him.”

Abel’s eyes twinkled, but the gravity of the Sun Maid’s face did not lessen. She explained gently, yet with unshaken decision, that her self-adornment was right, and gave her reasons.

“You will remember, dears, that I am a ‘Daughter of the Pottawatomies.’ They believe that I have supernatural gifts, and that I am a spirit living in a human form.”

“And you let ’em, Kit, you let ’em?”

“I couldn’t prevent it if I tried. And I do not try. That idea of theirs is far too powerful a factor for good. Even Wahneenah, who knows better and is to me as a real mother, even she treats me a little more deferentially when I attire myself like this.”

“Put on your war paint, eh?”

“No, indeed: my peace paint,” laughed the girl. “The messenger you saw talking with Wahneenah and me is from an encampment a dozen miles or so to the westward. There are about five hundred Indians in the camp, and they are getting restless. They are always restless, it seems to me,” and she sighed profoundly. “It is such a problem, isn’t it? They think they have right on their side, and the whites think they have; and there is so much that is good, so much that is evil, on both. Well, the red people are planning treachery. The brave you saw is a real friend to the pale-faces, and one of my closest confidants. He came to warn me. His tribe, or the mixed tribes in the camp, are getting ready for an attack upon us, or some other near-by settlement. I must go out and stop it,—find out their grievance and right it if I can. If not—Well, I must make peace. I may be gone for several days, and I may be back before morning. You must make yourselves comfortable somewhere. Ask Doctor Littlejohn. If he is too absorbed in his studies, then talk with One, his eldest son. He is a fine fellow, and knows everything about this village. Good-by.”