. . A In :2 (1. .v "mama:- w '22:“ @srw «gravy ‘ 16:52:19 \ fl ,1 .r'x 7’ 6' 5 4 3x5; ‘ ~?/"‘m ‘1 . . . . - . - . . . - - .0 Copyrighted. l881, by Hunt: AND ADAMR, Entered ut the Post Oflicu 5: New Yurk, N. \'.. m; Sflfflflll CIMI Mull Mum. bvpl. Io, 1687. . ' d W kl b . Vol.XIV. WWWsauzwgfggisggggdmv No. 173. ‘ v‘fl‘ I‘ “3 ‘ . WW ‘ Tax TRAPPER newsman ms nun, mn vssn n- AS A 3mm; run, HURLING HIM BACKWARD ALMOST sstzwss._ 8 Old Kit and His Comrades. unmnmmr THE LONG TRAIL. BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR., nurses or “assumes MARSH,” “’aounn m cur-ma,” “run cononsno » BOYS,” mm, ETC. CHAPTER I. THE OMAHA CHIEF. “ Gn-I'HUNDERI boys, look down yonder!” and the aker instinctively sheltered his body behind a scrubby pine bush, though keeping his gaze riveted upon the sight that had called orth the exclamation. “ Indians—and coming this way i” ‘y‘ Looks mighty like they was runnin’ a foot- raoe—don’t it? They kiver the crust mighty pear-t, now I tell yeou!” “If a foot-race, the stake is a big one—see, now! A dirty trick, that—seven to one, and they using arrows I” ‘ Boys, ta’r play’s a jewel. Shell we or not?" muttered the first speaker, his gray eyes sparan vividly. “ Le’s end him a hand,” promptly replied two " , --but the third man spoke more deliberately. “’L it pay tew dew that? Git the heathen im down on us, an’ whar’ll our pelts be?’ , ‘ Away with such samples,” angrily cried 'one of the younger men. “ Lead the way, Kit ' -there's no time to lose if we want to reach the a bed before they pass by.” “Step lively—round this p’int,” and the old man glided rapidly down the hillside. ‘ Since the parties thus introduced will figure rominently in the pages to follow, an explana- ‘on not be amiss. The were four in num- ber, stout. hardy and w ~armed, all native- ‘bornAmerioans though we find them many miles north of the line that divides the United States from the British Possessions. J ' garb was peculiar, consisting for the p 1, of rudelv tanned skins, with the hair ' V still on. rimless caps of fur covered 3 their ends, long flaps of the same material - meeting beneath the chin, to protect their ears from biting breath of winter. Their ' v (occupies-a unshorn; even the youngest of the « ‘psrtyooaltl boast of no mean crop of beard, mustache and whiskers. ' One circumstance gave them a ludicrous ap- peat-anon. as though partially dressed for a , . Beneath each eye was an oblong of black—as dark as moistened powder . render the skin. Yet these spots were quite as much‘a portion of the dress as'the l'mflalo moccasins, or deer-skin wammus’ that r~ clothed their bodies. Half a day without these WW. and.tbe ,trappers would have be- come “ snow-blind.” . O! the quartette, one was old, one nearly mid- dloaged; the other two oung. That they were trappers, the akin-pone containing “ medi- cine,” bait, etc., hanging at their backs, the few “ open links " and small but sharp hatchets se- cured to their belts, plainly evidenced. Christopher Duncan, or f Old Kit ” as he was more generally known had for nearly twooscore years, man and boy, 11 a trapper. At the present time he might be considered the leader of this party—since he was only one of tho quartette that had seen service, or knew might of the country. Next in age, Samuel Grimes, or “Yankee Sam,” all the way from Jersey; cool, calculat~ mg. but of un uestioned braveig. red Mitche l and Alfred E 1, ado ted sons of “ Bleedi Kansas,” formed Old it’s other comrades. hey were both tall, handsome, manly fellows, who, though barely twenty-five gears of a e had won their shoulderstraps in outhern elds. All four being in the same regiment —the 7th Kansas Cavalry—a sincere friendship soon sprun up between them, and when they doffed the lac, it needed but one season of inactivity to disgust them, so that Old Kit found eager listeners amon his com- rades when he proposed a trip to the katche— wan, where we now find them. ‘ Meotin after their regular morning rounds, our frien s were returning to camp, when they paused upon a hilltop. From here an extensive view was 0 had before them. The Saskatche- wan, now we-bbund and thickly covered with snow frozen almost as hard as rock, wound its way below them, fringed with dark, somber pines and evergreens. Along the river-bed, racing toward them, Old Kit had discovered a number of Indians dashing on at full speed. Perhaps fifty yards in advance ran one savage, his body naked from the waist upward, a. long bow in his hand. Running nearly in a body, seven others appeared in full pursuit. , The keen eye of the trapper had noted the fugitive turn his head twice to glance at his pur- suers, and he knew by that the race_ was well- mgh ended. An ardent lover of fair pla , be resolved to lend the fugitive a helping han . re- gardless of the consequences, though he might well have hesitated. ‘ At this time the Cree Indians—both of the Wood and Plain tribes—were professedly at peace with the whites, though woe be unto the weak rty that trusted in the honor of the Plain rees, proverbially cruel and treacherous. A moment’s reflection would have told Kit that to shed the blood of a Cree would render imme- diate flight to the settlements their only hope of escaping the vengeance of the others; but that moment he did not take. Not a moment too soon did the trappers gain the edge of the river-bed, their weapons ready for use. As they crouched down under cover, the hunted savage was nearl abreast of them. He ran, heavily and with ifliculty. The pur— suers were rapidly closing upon him. Casting another glance over his s oulder, he plucked an arrow from the quiver at his back, and fitted it to the taut string. .“ Ready, boys!” muttered Old Kit cockin his rifle. “ See the error stickin in hls hauno —he cain’t run much furder. Take turns in shootin’, jestas we sqyuat. ’Twon’t do to let any 0 the nnps git away. Old Kit and Hi- Gomradoe. I “Thunder—look] a man if he isan Indian!” and Mitchell’s eyes flashed with admiration. The hunted savage had suddenly faced his pursuers. sinkin upon one knee, with notched arrow drawn to is ear. With cxultant yells, his enemies abruptly separated, still dashing on as though bent on surrounding their victim. The bow-string twanged sharply—like a flash of lightnin , the feathered shaft sped upon its mission. nil in the broad chest of an ndian the arrow uivered, its barbed point shining blood-red at is back. Staggering forward a few steps, the stricken brave sunk to the snow—crust, dyeing its pearly surface With his life—blood. Clear and piercing like the eagle‘s shriek, the hunted Indian pealed forth his defiant war—cry, and then lucked another arrow from his quiver. With angry howls, the others came bounding on. “ Now I” Blended with his shout, the rifle of Old Kit cracked spitequ y, and death choked the ell of rage upon the lndian’s lips. Then nick y suc- ceeding each other, the weapons of t e tra pers spoke, directed by true and unerring ban s and eyes. The first report came like a thunder'clap from a clear sky to the savages. They instantly paused, seeming petrified with astonishment. The fugitive turned quickly toward the am- bush, his eyes directed by the rising wreath of smoke. Des crate despair was written upon his features. 9 believed he was caught between two fires. But then, as the death—yell run welcome on his ear, and he found that the mas ed shots were not aimed at his person, the notched shaft fell from his fingers, his head drooped, and he fell in amdotiéinless heap upon the snow-crust, seeming- y en . Each rifle-shot claimed a victim; at such short range the result could not have been otherwise, for these men were not unused to drawing bead upon armed foemen. Five bleeding forms cum- bered the snow. “ Hi—yah!” yelled Old Kit, sprin ing through the bushes, drawn revolver ‘in ban , as the two survivmg red-skins turned to flee from the scene of death. “ A’ter ’em, boys—’t they git away, good-by to_our pelts an’ skulps.” One fugitive took the back trail, evidently trusting in his powers of locomotion to carry him to safety. But no mean pedestrian was upon his tracks. Old Kit was noted for his fleetness of foot and powers of endurance, nor had age sapped those. The savage ran with the long, swinging stride of a man wearing snow-shoes swaying first to one side their the other. Old Kit stepped short and quick, his toes scraping particles from the frozen crust, castin them in little spurts behind him. At every ro he uttered the wild slogan of his company when they char ed the foe—the first syllable s ort, the second ong: Hi—yah! hie—yak I Scarce two hundred yards had been covered, when he abruptly paused and raised hi right hand. iOraok—crac I With a blood-curdling screech’ the savage bounded high into the air, falling head-first to the crust, breaking. through, casting the feathery snow in clouds upon the cold air in his death-struggles. Old Kit turned and glanced back. Alt Hall was hastening toward him. Mitchell was stoop- ing over the form of the Indian they had risked so much to save from death. But nothing could be seen ,of either Yankee Sam or the last sav- age. “Whar is he—tho other Varmint?" eagerly cried Duncan. “He took to the woods, with Sam after him,” p'anted Alf. “ Satan! ’f be gits ofll, the hull Cree tribe’ll be r on our backs,” gritted Old Kit, as he turned to- ward the black forest. HBlilit he abruptly paused and glanced toward a . amazement. A strange sound—a series of sounds, came to- their ears from the forest. Angry yells, mingled with fierce curses and heavy blows “Foller—Sam’s in trouble," g‘ritted Duncan, its lie cocked his pistol and scrambled up the an . Regardless of the scratches and thumps given them by the stiff underbrush, the trappers has- tened on to the spot from whence proceeded the noise. Then they paused. After Igaping in as- tonishment for a moment, Old it uttered! a. choking yell and sunk upon the snow. almost bursting with laughter. And well he mi ht laugh. As the ambushed shots sent death to is com- rades, one of the savages plunged for the nearest ’ ~ cover, doubtless trusting to elude pursuit in the dense and tangled forest. But the keen eye of Yankee Sam had detected the movement. and. realizing the peril—almost certain destruction. ' . that one esoape would entail, he dashed forward in hot pursuit. Running a few yards, the savage suddenly came upon a deep gully. and attempted to leap over it, but his foot slipped, and he alighted in the middle of the snow—bed, breaking through the crust,sinking nearly to the arm pits. Rushin after at full speed, the long Yankee was unable to check himself in time, and so lea enemy, alighting just within arm’s ength. ‘ The shock caused him to drop his pistol, t.th * skimmed along the crust, beyond reach. hands of both were empty, nor did they dare reach below the snow to secure other weapons,"“ f for fear of the other. ‘ The sava e struggled to at free. butfound his .13. feet tangl with vines an brush that grew at the bottom of the gull _. And Yankee Sum quickly made the same iscovery, but, resolved to secure the savage, he worked forward to some him. I In desperation the red—skin shot out his clinch- ed fist. Full upon Yankee Sam’s long, thin nose it alighted, wiggling involuntary tears to his eyes as the b1 sported from the insulted member. . With a how] of. fury, Grimes squared off and planted his fistsv—oneutu'o. Then at it they went, hammer and tongs, giving and taking,- both far too angry tothink o wardintssofl blown, and each only intent in punishing antago- nist. ‘ ‘ And at this. work Old Kit found them. No ' wonder, then, that he laughed. Alf was standing with open mouth, in, a s j ' for the 4 Old Kit and His Comrade-X Hearing new enemies, the red-skin only thought or escape, and so tell an easy preytothe Yankee. Sam clutched his throat with one hand, raining heavy blews upon the bruised face with his iron . fists growling and snarling like a wild beast. “ hollow! what in wonder— Ha! ha!” and Fred Mitchell joined in the chorus with Duncan and Alt. “Ugh! die—dog of a. Creel” uttered adeep . tone, and then, flashing through the air, a geavy knife sunk to the hilt in the red—skin’s eart. “Thunder! whar’d that come from?” splut— tel-ed Grimes, suddenly drawing back. For the first time he became aware of the presence of others, as he glanced up the bank. hen plunging a hand beneath_the_snow he whipped forth a revolver, leveling 1!: u dark to pen the bank above. Vl‘An Injun—darn it, heow many more?” he snorted, as the hammer fell. “Hold, Sam—don’t shoot!” cried Mitchell, as he sprung before the man aimed at. “It‘s a friend—the Indian we saved.” “ Thunder! lucky thar was snow on the cap, then,” and Yankee Sam dolefully rubbed his nose. The Indian drew back, glaring first upon one, then upon another, his hand resting upon the half-drawn hatchet at his waist. The action of Grimes had awakened his suspicions that he _ had on] escaped one danger to fall into the power 0 other foes. “Eas , lnjun: don’t be brash,” quickly ut- tered 0d Kit, stepping forward. “We don’t 'mean you no harm, ’less you cut up rusty. Else for wh ’d we save ye from them Crees?” “ The yel ow man would have shot me.” mut- tered the red-skin, though the glitter in his eyes softened at the words of the old trapper. “ A mistake—he thought you one of the Cress,” added Mitchell. “He fought for you down on the river." “Say!” splattered Sam, in disgust. “Cain’t yeou help a teller? Let us git eout 0‘ this ’ere trap. then yeou kin talk all day ’f yeou want." “ All rig t. my covey,” and Duncan slid down the bank. “ Giv' us your han’. Thar—but, oh, ge-long! ain't you a purty lookin’ critter jest now!" and he went into another fit of laughter over Yankee Sam‘s dilapidated appearance. “ Snicker, blame ye! Wish‘t yeou’d ’n’ bin in my lace-the varmint bed a fist like a mule’s bin foot." “ Ill hev the rib-ache for a month, burn me ’f I don’t,” muttered Kit, faintly. Seek a sight-— lord, ’f your gal would only ’a’ see’d you two I a- 11’ away like that—an‘ you a church mem r!” . “Shot up,’r yeou won‘t be much better,” growled Barn, angrily. “Hey? Don’t shoot your mouth of! tothat tune, boy. to me. I've ett better men’n you dar’ was fizta «fly-stomach ontel breakfust,” re- , as ing up. “lasts—no narrelinzlrl among friends,” has! 15in term 081? Mggqhe ,tlgnovlzing th‘ei‘rv hot r one w ru mg get er. e‘ve enougglse’npon our hands without that, good- ws neon . “True as Ihootin‘, and thar’s my han’, Sam." ( r “ A11 right—but don’t sa nothin’ more abeout my gal. he only one’t ever had is dead, an’ it’s my sore peint——” “ I ax pardin, Sam—I didn‘t know that!” and the two clasped hands cordially. “ Jest look at the heathen varmint,” muttered Sam, with an expression of disgust, as the In- dian slid down into the gully, and plucking the knife from the body, dextrously lifted its scalp. “It’s his raisin’, boys,” )hiloso hically sald Duncan. “ They’d ’a’ serve him t esame way, only for us dropgien’ on ’em as we did.” “ Who can he —surely not a Wood Cree?” “ No—this is a man; them Wood Cress are dogs that skeer at thar own shader, and drop tail at thar own yelpin'. Would one 0’ them showed fight ag’inst seven! Not much. But you’ve got me. I caiu’t read the feller. He wore Blackfoot moccasins an’ Cree leggin’s, but he’s too ood-lookin‘ for either." , 1 Old 1t abruptly ceased his comments as the subject of them came close to him, steadily look- ing into his face. Gradually a soft, . teful light filled the black eyes, and a faint sm' e uiv- ered round the lndian’s lips. Then he , his voice, though deep and sonorous, soun ing mu- sical as the words dro ped slow] from his lips. “ Look! does The an with we Horses see the face of a brother?" Duncan started with surprise' for years he had not heard this title, bestowed upon him by the Indians while he acted as scout and hunter for the garrison at Fort Union. Then it was rare] that an Indian of full blood could speak the nglish language with such purity. “I’ve met you store. chief, but ‘est how or whar, I cain‘t for the life 0’ me cal to mind,” returned Kit. “ See—I will blow away the cloud; an Indian never for ets. Now—it is very cold. The river is deep. like the edge of a new knife. Three white hun- ters are riding toward the big 10d 6. They see an Indian lying upon the snow. e is sick— two days before his horse fell, and broke the red- man’s leg. He looks at the white faces. Tw of them say, ‘ Injun rascal, let the coyotes eat him .I The other steps lifts the Indian upon the horse, then walks on, holding the red-man safe in the saddle. He pays the Medicine‘man at the big lodge to cure—” “ I know ye new, chief,” interrupted Duncan, his face glowing with earnest pleasure. “ Boys, this is Blackbird, the head chief o’ the Omahas —the whitest man that ever were a redskin sense the y’ar one !” “ The friends of Wathenaaredear to the heart of Blackbird,” gracefully replied the chief, cor- diall returning the hand-pressures. “ ust so—we’re all one fambly 0’ brothers now, an’ I reckon we’ll need to be sech afore we’re well out 0’ this scra . .But who’d ’a’ thunk o’ seein’ you here, Blac bird?" “My brothers shall know all soon—but first the trail of blood must be covered, or the Cree, dogs.’will be howling their death-songs in our ears. “ Was any more follerin’ ye chief, but these?” “ I think not. But they will be looked for, when their brother dogs miss their faces.” The Cree who had been slain in the gully was / I ‘he breath of the North Spirit cuts r eae-i«—~——--—+ Old Kit ‘IuId His Conrad“. . 5 [in ust beneath the snow-crust, and then all traces of blood carefully smoothed over. Those who had fallen in the river-bed were treated in a similar manner. Then Old Kit led the way over the hill to the place where nestled their rude cabin, in an un- usually dense portion of the pine forest, though at no great distance from the Saskatchewan. The cabin was rude, but comfortable, built of unhewn lo _,the interstices between bein snugly calk with mortar made of mud an chopped grass. A roof of dry pine sticks, thick- ly covered over with marsh~grass and mud, roved water-tight. The door was made of ogs, squared and tightly joined, hung upon wooden hinges. The chimney was built inside, of stone and mud; Even in that climate— where the thermometer frequently marks 40° slalow zero, the cabin was warm and comforta- e. The walls were hung round with furs in course of airing. A ready cked bale lay in one cor- ner. Others form pallets for the truppeis’ use at night. Severn chunks of dried meat hung beside the chimney, buffalo and deer-flesh, to ether with skin-bags of pemmican. uncan built 11 the fir_e and busily prepared their rude meal, lackbird at the time telling his story. “ Four moons ago,” began Blackbird, speaking in a low monotonous tone, “ 1 led the Omahas up- on the fall hunt. Just as we were emptying our quivers into the first herd of buffalo, a runner brought us black words. A war-party of the Blackfeet Bloody-men’l had swooped down upon the Omaha village, and though the long-ton ued dogs were beaten back by the few boys an old men who had not joined the hunt, they carried away with them some squaws. Among them was Etiwee, the one who kept my lodge-fire ' burning. . “The Omahas are not dogs. Their squaws are dearer to them than aught else save the scalps of their enemies. So when the cry sound- ed, the braves came to my heels, leaving the dead buffalo for the coyotes to feast upon. “Before the moon paled that night we were riding along upon the trail left by the fleeing dog‘s. For two suns we followed; those whose horses dropped dead upon the trailran behind on foot. The next night we caught them. They stood up and gave us blow for blow like true braves; but it was only because in the Omahas they saw death. “ Blood fell like rain. The sand was met with it. Our knife-blades were dull. our arms tired before the fight was done. And then? Black- bird’s heart was sore, for Etiwee was not with the uaws. A black cloud came over his eyes, i at t an be was once more a war—chief of the Omahas. “ The Blackfeet were dead—their bodies could not speak to tell me where was Etiwee, but then the squaw of Double Ax put 1i ht into the dark- ness. Etiwee was young an pleasing to the v e—at least, so thought Tall Grass, a chief of 1: l8 Siksik aband and he claimed her for his share. Wi her he rode hard to his pie. With three braves I followed his trail: 17 rest ‘ Kolauar, a subdivision of the tribe. returned to the village. We found the Black- foot at home, and two nights after entered the village to steal away the heart of Blackbird. But a man—dog scented an Plit‘lfl)’, and raissd the war-cry. He died by the hand of a man. village was large. We were in its middle, four braves against hundreds. With our batches and knivcs we trod a trail of blood. That night wasa black one for the Siksika a. Kara u. the truest eye of the Omahas, sun first. on Yolo, the swift. Emantara, the strong, kept beside his chief until the village was cleared— then he died. Blackbird alone escaped, though the dogs hunted him hard for three suns. Then they went back to their people. with bowed heads—but not all. As many as my fingers of both hands were food for the coyotes. “ Tho Siksikagas wore black faces for many suns for while they were hunting the Omaha, the l’lain Crees struck them a blow, taking ' many scalps, and with them a lot of Squaw". Among these rode Etiwee, thou b her chief was days in finding out the truth. took the new trail. It cnded among the hills beside the big river. He sought for Etiwee, lying in ambush around the villagc. Last ni ht he entered the town. He found the lod e t 1'. held his heart, and spoke to her. Bu other ears heard his words. A Cree dog lea d ‘upon ‘ his back as he lay beside the lodge. B ckbird’s knife drank his blood, but the death-yell awoke . the village. Again the Omaha escaped. With day the wolves took his trail. hcn Blackbird ' Blackbird m‘ ' tired and wounded. His feet were heavy; his' eyes were shut by the sleeping s irit. but their ‘ steps awoke him. He shot one, 1 en fled. They . followed. They were fresh—for a month the " Omaha had not known rest. Blackbird saw them creepin near. their thirst or his blood and his heart grew heavy, because he believed Etiwee was doomed ' to become the slave of a slave. “ But the Great Spirit was not sleeping. He ‘ i That help \was my white bmthers.‘ sent help. Blackbird thanks them. Life is ve sweetto him now, because he knows that E 'iwee lives, and looks for his coming.” “Gi’us our aw chief— ou're a true that? y . P ! He heard their yells—saw . of your skin 18 red,” cried 0] Kit, in admiratit'm ' over the chief’s deeds. . . _ . “ But ’t seems to me like we are ttm’ lutew- \. a purty consid‘able 0’ a snarl,” dry y remarked f Grimes. “ but they'll hev pay for them braves, _an’ of they. stum’le on us, I wouldn’t give a continental cuss fer our pelts or skelps either.” “ The Yellow Man need not be afraid." (inlet, ly replied the Omaha. “Blackbird will list! Them Crees ’11 move heaven an’ airth ‘ the eyes of the Crees, and lead them away, - while his white brothers can hide their trail to a better trapping—ground.” ' __ “ No, ye won t, chief. You’ve showed‘yonr- self a man. an’ I won’t run away an’ leave you-'~ i0 [flick :g’in’ the hull tribe alone. ‘83:): kin, ’f e | es. “There!” interposed Mitchell. “Sam‘s growl 1. is worse than his bite. He'll do what’s I. and won’t be found wanting when comes. But now I move we turn in, though it's soearly. It maybeourlastchanoe foragood‘ sleep for a while. 8‘ 01d Kit and Hi! Comrades. “Outel we all git bloody ni htca s” m- bled Yankee Sam. g p’ gm And so, taking turn about watching, the night passed without event worthy of note. CHAPTER II. MEETING CRAFT wrm CRAFT. OLD Krr roused his comrades an hour before daylight. Then as he removed several slices of meat smokin hot from the coals, he said: “ To—day we’l smell fun, ’13 at all. In the fu’st place we’ll look at our traps an’ cache them in a safe place. El we hev to pull out 0’ this, it’ll be in too big a hurr to do much backin‘.’ “ Sup they should nd the cabin while we were al one, and lay for us coming back?” so ested itchell. 5mm chief ’11 see to that. He kin cache in the holler pine, an’ keep comf’table. Better take the its thar, too.” “ lackbird will do as his brother says. “ To- day he will rest, because he can do nothing until the sun hides its face. But then he goes to Eti- wee,” quietly uttered the young chief. “All right—come, I’ll show ye the cache," ' and Kit took up the bale of furs and left the cabin. . The air was unusuallyr keen and piercing, and the old trapper, thoug Seasoned, momentarily shivered while his blood seemed to turn to ice. But Blackbird gave no evidence of feeling the cold. Duncan paused beside a huge pine tree whose feathery crest far overtopped the surrounding forest. Vines and shrubbery thickly screened its base. Parting these, Old Kit revealed a dark aperture close to the surface of the snow- crust, yet large enough to admit the body of a man. “ This is the cache, chief. You’ll find the in- side bi a-plenty. Thar’s steps out up one side. Look c ose an’ you’ll find a deep hole that over- looks the cabin yender. Jest under it’s a knot whar you kin set easy. Then nobody can’t come, nigh the place ’thout you Seem’ or hearm' them.” _ "It is good. The beaver is cunning. but my ' brother Kit can open its eyes. The firee dogs will lose their captive, now that Blackbird has " ' gained such a friend." “Your tongue is slicker ’n soft soap chief,” laughed Kit, yet with a gratified sparkle in ms eyes. “But Ill go now. When I git back we’ll gall: ,niore about your squaw, an’ how to git her ree. Doubly cautioning his younger and less ex- perienced comrades. Kit uncan parted from them and set 01! to visit his traps. Thou h Kit Duncan had the longest route to follow, is rounds were finished first, owmg to a simple but most revoking cause. Eve one of his traps had lready been visited be ore the OWner reached them. ' The first was a marten-trap. With stakes about three feet in th, at half-oval was formed across the trail. n this palisade a bait was set upon the end of a stick that supported a ' heavy log. The marten or fisher, in scouting round for breakfast. scents the bait and crawl- ing beneath the log, snaps at it. is removes the. prog, the tree falls, and the animal gets a broken ack. From a distance Kit saw that his “ deadfall ” was sprung, and hastened forward with a thrill of exultation known only to the successful trap- per. Then he opened his lips and swore. The snow around was marked with blood—bits of fur lay here and there. A marten had been caught, then dug out and devoured. “ Ouss the luck!” gritted Duncan, bending low over the snow-crust in the gray light of dawn. “ A Injun Devil, by mighty!” The reader may or may not know that this animal is the carcajou, or wolverine. Among trafipers his name is that given by Old Kit on aut ority of the Indians, who solemnly a rm that the brute is the only son of his Satanic Majesty. And indeed, the cunning it often dis- plays gives good foundation for the superstition. 12 will follow a hunter through his entire rounds, watching him set each trap. And the next morning, when the trapper sets out with g)?” anticipations, he finds that Mr. Injun vil has been beforehand with him. Not a trap will be overlooked. Such as contain prey the carcajou will rob, not stopping even when he can eat no more, but carrying the meat to a cache of its own. ‘f Ef he’s bin to the next one, then I’ll strike straight fer the steel-traps—though like’s not the cussed varmint hes kerried them all off—be jest my luck,” growled Kit, as he glided on over the snow-crust. The second deadfall had been visited and the bait eaten, though in this case the wolverine had found nothing else. In disgust. knowmg that the same result would await him at the other traps Kit turned abruptly to the left, and struck out for the second round. But here, too, the four-legged trapper had left his traces, and Duncan airlyloamerl with rage as he sto ped by a steel-trap that contain- ed the leg 0 a silver fox and saw the ragged bits of fur scattered aroun . Little wonder then that Old Kit cursed and swore eternal venge- ance upon the race of Injun Devils. Suddenly he collected his traps and slung them upon his back, then glanced around to take the bearings of the camp. A direct route would take him within a mile of the spot where the trappers had rescued Blackbird, and Kit re— solved to learn whether or no the bodies of the Cree wamors had yet been discovered by their friends. Half an hour later the old trapper was crouching down upon the hill-top where we first beheld him, his eyes roving keenly over the scene spread below. The snow-covered river was dotted here and there by dark forms,’ slinking noiselessly about, or sitting upon their haunches, now and then uttering a long, lug‘ullst'iviushhowli ” ‘ ra t e we vesl gritted Duncan an '1 . f‘ The ’ve smelled the blood, an’ must‘ begllihsyy in un arthin’ the karkidges. ButIll send ’em to thar holes. in a—” His mutterin abruptly ceased, and his gm became rive upon one particular point, far down in the river-bed. A dozen dark s ts seemed slowly moving up the level bed. lfgre by instinct than aught else Kit knew these A _+, 01a Kit and m. Comrades. ' v: were human beings—and from their number, Indians. “My head ag’inst a mug 0’ beer it‘s Crees. trailing up the vamints we rubbed out! Con— found the wolves! Only for them, they thought pass by onknowin;l{y.” Fora moment it appeared undecided, but then crept into the dense mass of shrubbery, ' carefully replacing the foliage behind him. Then through a tiny aperture he peered out upon the savages. These slowly advanced. A trail upon the hard, frozen snow - crust is not an easy thing to follow, unless it is freshly made. Then the tches where the gloss is de— stroyed lainly to l where a foot has passed. The pas night had almost rfeotly restored this g oss, and only for the slig t scratches made by the swift] flying feet, the trail could not have been to owed at all. Thus, fully as much by the sense of touch as of sight, the Cree braves followed on to the spot of death. With sullen howls, the wolves slunk away, showing their lon . hungry fangs. From this covert upon the hi -top Kit Duncan anxiously awaited the result. The Crees used at a point where the crust had been bro en, and one thrust the end of his bow into the hole. With an exclamation that faintly reached the ambushed trapper, he started back, gesticulating excitedly. Then the crust was broken and torn aside, the light snow scraped out, until the bare head of 'an Indian corpse was brought to view. A moment’s silence, and then a. cry arose, so wild, so mourn- ' ful, and get so full of a. deadly vengeance, that old Kit 5 uddered in his covert rose upon the air, echoed back by the surrounding woods and' hills in a thousand reverberations. It was the death-wail of the Plain Crees. The body was lifted out upon the crust, and carefully examined. The broad breast bore no wound, but between the shoulders were two small round holes. Another cry arose. Duncan closed his lips firmly, for he knew what it meant. The Crees knew now that their brother had fallen by the hand of a pale-face. And his bronzed face paled as he saw them using their knives upon the dead man’s breast then draw together as though slowly exa nindg some object. And so they were. They hel the bullets that killed their brother. - Woe unto the white men whose weapons those were found to fit! In silence the Cree braves continued their search. Kit watched them as they unearthed one after another of the savages he had helped slav, with a fascination new as strange to him. The risk of discovery was considerable, in case the should search the vicinity for further signs of those who had killed their people. Yet it was essential that their real pur- risgilfuld be learned, and Kit resolved to run 6 . . For a time the Crees consulted earnestly, re-- maining undecided. One of the pa who had set out in chase of the Omaha chie was still missin . since only six bodies had been found. y they took up the 308.1le forms and slowly retraoed their steps, beyond doubt 1-9;. turning to their village. Duncan's taco bri ht- ened up at this, though he knew it was 0 y a respite. The Plain Crees would lose no time in avenging their brothers, and would work all the more thoroughly for proceedin s stematlcally. " Now fer the boys, ' mutte uncan, crawl- ing forth from his covert. “ We’ve ot the rest 0‘ the day good. The varmints won t be apt to find the cabin afore to—morrow. An’ to-night, ’f at all, the chief must it his squaw free.” Duncan hastened on, t ough taking more than ordinary caution not to leave a plain trail be- hind him. Busied with this he passed by the long avenue-like opening that led down to the river. Had his gaze been bent in this direction, he [alight not have felt quite so easy in his mm . Nearing the cabin, old Kit crept along like . some wood— hantom, but no sign tellin of the presence 0 enemies met his gaze. hen he uttered the agreed~u n signal. Like an echo the reply came, soun ing faint and mufled. “ The chief’s still in the tree—~then all’s hunky yit," and Duncan drew a. long breath. “Come out, b s. The cabiu‘s more comfortable ‘1: that ho] er. Thar’s no danger ressin'." Blackbird glided from the ollow tree, fol; lowed by the two young tra pers. Yankee had not yet returned from 3 rounds. Entering the cabin Kit replenished the fire with some carefully selected wood, then loaded his pipe. Fred and Alf, more from habit than aught else, began skinnin the game they had taken from their tra , an stretc '25 thepelti. Kit briefly sketch the scene be h at the river-bed Blackbird listening intently. A bri ht n ht filled his expressive eyes. “ ell, c ief,” added Duncan, after a pause. “ what d’ you think 0’ it?” “A ppoose can read the secrets of a Cree, with c osed eyes. They carry their dead dogs to their village, that their brothers, the coyotes, may not be poisoned by satin them. Then - they will go out in a big crowd t tthoir beam may not weaken, and hunt t’or scalps. They know that Blackbird is alive, for they'lnw, where his arrow carried death to the big Cree, They know too that he has found friends-white _ friends.” » “ But how do they know on were rescued by whites?" curiously queried tch ll. I , , “ Listen. Kit saw them cut out the two bul- j lots that he sent into the Cree’s back. They have e es, though they are dim. Bo ‘ came mm the same weapon. An Indian does , not carry a rifle that uses such a little ball. 30 ’ they will know that a. pale-face helped Black- bird. What would white men do here, unlem to take furl And how long can they live with- out a lodge to warm them in? “ This is what the Grace will say. Then they will hunt for the lodge of the fur-(Item It is here-they will find it. day and at; t is much time. With it my brothers can y beat the Cress to the big 10d .” . . “Then you think we' be pull up Itch“ an’ run for it, oh?” “The Cree dogs are man er“. a will??? b” 1:" till “$3,” J in em. p w m Llackened faces 1: theyngwr returned." - thbulletohv and their arrow- r' 8 . Old Kit and His Comrades. “ That’s true enough. I know one that would for Alf, anyhow," and Kit’s eyes sparkled mis- chievously. “ But I don’t like to turn my back on alri’nd, chief—I don’t, by mighty!” “Then wh der yer dew it, say?’ demanded the voice of . ankee Sam. at the door, he hav- ing crept up unheard. “ Open the door—I’m e’ena’most friz. I’ve got a uar kind 0’ game here, tew—somethin’ ter ma. h the chief’s.” As he entered, Grimes cast adark object upon the floor, which Blackbird instant] picked up. An exclamation of pleasure broke rom his lips, 8 he turned and seized Sam’s hand. “ You are a. great brave—Blackbird is proud of his yellow brother 1” “ A Cree scal , by thunder!” cried Kit, tak- in the mass’of air in his hand. “Fresh, too. are ’d you find it, Sam?” “On the spot where it nat’rally growed. I was looking at my traps, when somebody blazed away at me from ahind a bush. The bulle". creased me -—see,” and he pointed to a bloody patch upon the top of his shoulder. “ Tew big a load 0’ powder saved me that time. The smoke showed me what it come from-and I drop the varmint. For fear you‘d think I was okin’, I brunor the proof along.” “ a1, it’s one the less to look out fer, any- how. Now see here, chief. It’s no two ways 'bout it, we’ve got to ull up stakes and mosey. But we ain’t gonn‘ to cave you ahind us.” “ Blackbird must not disappoint Etiwee. She looks for his coming with every hour,” quietly added the Omaha. “ Then, boys, how is it—shell we sneak off an’ let the chief hev all the fun? Is it like a. white man to take a. dar’ from a red-skin?” “I for one am willin’ to be guided by you,” and Mitchell’s words were promptly seconded ,hy Hall and Grimes. “ Wal, then, I say le’s lend him a helpin’ hand. Mebbe we kin help him git back his squaw an’ save our pelts, too.” ' “ Blackbird is not rich. but his word is lawto his people. They will pay his white brothers ten skins for every one they lose in helping the Omaha,” quietly added the chief. r “ Good as wheat l” murmured Yankee Sam. “Then it’s settled. Come, boys, the sooner we begin, the quicker we’ll be done. Pack up sech o the furs as is wu’th the most, an’ take ’em to the tree. Chief, be) me with the grub.” /' Willing hands made quic work, and in a few ' \ minutes the cabin was dismantled, and left in such adisordered stew that the Crees, when they made the discovery, would think its late occu- Bants had precipitatelv fled after rescuing the maha. For the time being the hollow tree was to serve the trappers as a home. Blackbird and Kit Duncan were standing near the tree, conversing in a low tone _ about v the task that la before them, when the chief ab- ' ru ceased, is form assuming a statue-like stifitzgss. Only his eyes moved, apeculiar fire filling their de the. Something his look warned 01d Kit of im- mhfig. iii, and that caution was needed. sen ears, now strained to catch any suspicious sound, failed to detect any thing of the kind that might account for the Omaha’s sudden change. ; E. “ Blackbird smells an enemy,” hissed the chief, not a muscle of his face moving. “ Let Kit listen, but his face must not repeat the words he hears. The eyes of a spy are upon us —a scout of the Crees lies in the bush, counting our numbers. Blackbird can whirl and shoot him, but the bushes may stop the arrow so that he will have time to utter a death—yell. If he is alone, that would not matter; but we must be snakes now. I will turn round and point up in a tree. You make ready your rifle, as thou h to make sure of the game if I miss. Keep loo - ing where 1 point. The ((1535 is hidden in the bushes at the foot of the (1 tree. Do you un- derstand?” A glance from Kit was the reply, and then Blackbird carelessly turned around. His e as did not appear to rest upon the clum of bus es alluded to, but nevertheless he saw hem move faintly. Reaching one hand back to the old trapper, the other was extended toward the top of a densely-Embed tree some fifty yards away. Kit seemed interested and threw forwar'd his rifle, cockin it, but Blackbird shook his head, then tap his bow, carefully selecting an ar- row from the quiver at his back, which he then dro pad to the ground. etching the arrow to the string, he glided silently away, his gaze riveted upon the tree- top indicated, as though the ame was one that needed caution to secure. e bent to the right, thus passing close to the clump of bushes, in which he knew an armed foemnn was hidden. Not once did he glance toward this, though as he passed by he heard a. faint rustle from their midst, and did not kn0w but that the Cree was even then leveling a shaft at his life. With motionless features, but anxiously heat- ing heart, Kit waited the result closely watch- ing the bush out of the corner of his eye, while his face was turned toward the tree indicated. He saw Blackbird pass the ambush, and then on until the huge dead stub was placed between him and the spy’s hiding-place. Here be halted, though moving his feet regu- larly, as though still gliding on, lighter and more faint, until he finally paused altogether. Turning, he waved one hand to Kit, then laid how and arrow upon the ground. He had re- solved to capture the spy if possible. Noiselessly as a shadow he crept back to the deadwood. and pausing beside it, listened in- tently. Not a sound met his ear. Then he cautiouslv peered round the body. His eyes sparkled like living coals as he de- tected a bit 0 bronzed skin shining through the bushes. Thus guided, he leaped forward and upward, crashing through the bushes, alighting fairly upon the Cree’s back, dashing him heavil forward upon the snow. The next mo- ment is sinewy fin are wound round the spy’s throat effectually c eckinfilall outcry. As he leap was made. 't sprung forward, and bent to assist the chief. Blackbird laughed; a peculiar sound that caused Duncan to start, despite his iron nerves, so full of deadly malice was 1 . , “ Bind the blind dog’s hands. Take his bow- string. He will not need it again.” / Kit promptly obeyed, and then tearing a moo.- Old Kit and 'His Comrades. 9 casin from the sp ’s foot, crammed it tightly between the disten ed jaws. Thar—he won’t screech out now,” chuckled 1 . “It is good. Drag the dog to the cabin. Blackbird will look if more of his tribe are near. Half an hour later the Omaha. returned, pro- nouncing the vicinity free from enemi. He found the Cree recovered from his severe chok- ing, sullen but defiant. lackbird crouched down beside the Cree cap- tive, syinglhim gloatingly. The Cree defiantly returned t e gaze. He was tall, well made, and not unhandsome for an Indian. Two scarcel - healed wounds marked his broad chest, besi e other scars of older date. Around his neck hung a. rudely-carved representation of a faith foot. Upon his forehead, done in white paint, was a like totem. “ The Cree has a name?” began Blackbird, in a low and singularly musical voice. “These tell that he is a brave warrior,” and he gently touched the scarred breast. “ maha hands left these scratches. The han of a squaw is not heavy enough to touch the life of a man,” retorted the castlve. “ True—the Omahas are cowar 1y dogs that Ijelp in fear at their own shadow,” said Black- ird, in mock humility. “Their war-chief is a . now. He trembles at the si ht of a brave. e would fly away now, only t at the mighty brave ,is fast bound. Yes, Blackbird 1s a uaw. “The Omaha’s tongue is straight when he talks with a warrior, he speaks true words. He isa uaw—the son of a dog. Fox—foot killed that og. He carries the white scal with him to ison the coyotes as they yelp a his heels.” or some moments Blackbird remained mo— tionless. The younger traplpers shuddered as they glanced into his eyes. hey were the eyes of a very demon, then. He knew that some of the Cress had killed his father but until now had not known which one. With a twist of his body, the Cree allowed a tress of white hair to show through the s 't in his shirt. Seizing it, Blackbird recognize the trophy. Slowly he drew his knife. The Cree laughed, low and tauntingly. Knowing that death was inevitable, he provoked a y one. Like Lightning the bla e encircled the cap- tive’a he . Then Blackbird held ascalp-lock before Fox-foot’s eyes. It had been severed close to the skin. He was degraded—forever .debarred from enterin the happy hunting- grounds of his people. is was the refinement .of torture. .An expression of terrible des air ove read histoatures. Lau hing like a end, Blac bird lifted his knife. T e breast of Fox-foot rose to ' meet the blow. To the heft the weapon sunk. Without a ~moan the body fell back. Fox-foot, the de- graded, was dead. CHAPTER III. ' In ounnn’s GREAT mxrmn’. TEE two trappers, Mitchell and Hall, turned away with a shudder, and sought shelter in the hollow tree. In their eyes this unresisted blow was cold—blooded murder. Old Kit saw in it nothingbe 0nd what was right. A life for a life~a sca p for a. scalp. Such was the law he had honored for many years. . “The varmint is dead—what shall we do with him, chief?” at length uttered Duncan. . “ He must go back to his friends, to tell them " what he has seen,” quietly returned Blackbird, Kit a peared puzzled for a moment, but then. as the maha carefully scrutinized each line of aint upon the dead man's face and breast, a. ight flashed upon his mind. He knew that Blackbird meant to personate the Cree brave Fox-foot. “ You’d beat the devil at his own game, chief, —you would so! But how kin ye do It?” - ‘See!” and Blackbird held up the dead Croe‘s paint-sack. “ Well, sence you’re bound to resk it, I won’t say nothin’ a ’inst it. Come—I’ll help ye, while the daylight asts.” Line by line, symbol after symbol, the dex— trous hand of the old trapper reproduced upon the Omaha the war—dress of the Cree. Last, and with more pains, he drew the white paw upon Blackbird’s forehead, and then, drawing back, contemplated his work with great satis— faction. “ It’s truer than natur’, Kit,” uttered Grimes. “Yeou’d orter go back to the States an’ hang eout yeour sign as face-painter. The ladies' all patternize ye.” Blackbird now laited his long hair in ac- curate imitation o Fox—foot’s scalp-lock, which was the more easily done since bot tribes wore all their hair, only braiding the scalp-look sepa- rate; and then be donned the -le ns, breech, clout, deerskin shirt and collar of t e dead Cree. ‘ Slipping on the moccasins, Blackbird stood ’ erect, an admirable representative of the y. V “ It’ll do, seein’ the work is by night,” owly uttered Duncan. “But the face mought betray ée—ypu’re too good-lookin’, chief, for 0. Plain ree. Blackbird smiled slightly at this blunt com- pliment. Then he quietly re lied: “Fox-foot shoot ata wol . The arrowsth ,- and”hurt his eye. That is why hisheadisbonnd u . pIn a few moments the Omaha had a. poultice of leaves upon his right eye, bound there by: strip torn from his shirt. Inthis guise he meant to penetrate the village of the Plain Cross, and" if possible rescue Etiwee, his beloved squw, _ from their clutches. _ ' “ Beckon eou’d better hide the critter, hed- ‘ v n’t ye? It ’3’ look sorter funny at the heathen. should find both a dead an’ a live Fox-foot,” re- marked Yankee Sam. . “ Ketch hold, then. We’ll tote him to the lly. They won’t find him thar none too My fion’t reckon.” ' . The dead spy was cast into a gully. and then covered With snow. Only aclose nation would discover his resting-glues, and before then, in all probability, the up far beyond reach of the sav » . Snugly ensconced in the hollow tree. our friends patiently waited for the fall of night, as i \ . ‘ . pets. wouldbe, "3‘: '10 until then they could do nothin . The opening was choked up with furs and 5 ins, and the in- terior made quite comfortable. Old Kit was particular in his instructions. Upon no account were the trappers to leave the tree until his return. One was to be constantly on the watch, astride the knot above, nor were the others to fall asleep if it could possibly be avoided. They were to listen for a signal, and if the coast was clear to answer with the same; if not, then with a different one. Shortly after the darkness told that night was / at hand, Kit and the chief left the tree. It was yet early—for the sun had not once been visible that day—but the had a goodly distance to travel before reac ing the Cree village, and Blackbird wished to enter it before the inhabi— tants had retired to rest. Noiselessly, save for the faint, almost imper- ceptible crusnin of the snow particles beneath their moccasin feet, the adventurers glided on through the forest, crossing the ice-bound Sas- katchewan, heading directly for the village of the Plain Crees. An hour after crossing the river, they paused upon the ed of the forest. Before them lay the Cree a , scarcely half a mile distant, distinctly visib e across the white snow-crust. “ Kit must wait here," uttered Blackbird, in a low, guarded tone. “ The Omaha will go one.” :‘Mebbe it’s better so, but I wish I could go With an, chief. It ’d be like old times." hi“ "'t isa true friend, and Blackbird thanks . m. As though desirous of escaping all further worda the disguised chief glided away, heading direc toward the village. A number of _ brigh y blazing tires told him that the Cross were still astir. The village was pitched in a sort of hollow basin, something over a mile in diameter. Up- on three sides were considerable hills covered with stunted pines and, shrubs; on the other side the was nearly level, with a more than usu y o n forest extending to the bank 1 of the Saskatc wan. Over this last tract our ' friends had passed. The disguised Omaha had passed full one-half ofthe distance before his approach was noted fromthe village. Then two ndians started out as if?!) meet him. Conflding in his disguise, Blackbird did not falter, boldly facing them. “The chiefs are waiting for the coming of Fox-foot,” ke the foremost Cree. curiously 0 ng the isguised. " The faint-hearts said t my brother had followed his last trail— that th hidinghdogs had drunk his blood, too.” “No—they ave fled. But their feet are heavy and leave a broad trail behind them. The Cree braves will ,follow and take their scalps, and drink their blood," returned the spy, in pure dialect. r A shrill voice from the villa put an end to further . The council was. ing summoned. Walking between the two Crees, Blackbird en- tered the villagte. Fox-foot haddbieen a personage o no 9 m rtance, ju 1; ng V from the many lances cast waged the counter- : felt as he 1: the council-lodge—a square log ‘ [cabin in the centepof the village. \ 't’ t I l. ., I; Old Kit and His Comrades. In silence Blackbird entered the cabin, and crouched down beside the blazing fire, his keen eye—since only one remained uncovered— Elancinpi‘quickly around the company assembled. esides imself, the cabin contained fully a score painted warriors. The customary ceremonies opened the council, though with greater haste than common; then a savage arose. In stature he was a giant, with limbs unusual- ly long and powerful. His face was seamed and scarred, and only one eye remained. His hair was nearly White, though this could scarcely be the effect of age alone. “ Children,” he began, speaking quick and sharply, “ the Great Spirit frowns upon us. He is very an , because we have not obeyed his Prophet. eeping and wailing fills my ears. And why? Because the words of Witha ona ' dropped unheeded to the ground. The ah- catunca demands a sacrifice. It must be given, or the Plain Cress will disappear from the face of the earth. . “ Listen. We have one cagtive—Etiwee, the squaw of Blackbird, the Oma a. Buta brave—- a man, would be better and more acceptable. Blackbird is near at hand; his arrow sent the Otter home. We know that he is a brave, then b an enemy. His blood would clear the clou from the face of Wahcatunca. We will capture him and burn him. Withagona cannot lie, and he says it. “ The Prophet has lifted the spell from the Cree braves. Our seven brothers died because they hunted an enemy before their fastin was done. Only the Prophet, by word of the ah- catunca. can release us. This he did, just now.” The grayohaired chief sat down, amid pro- found silence. Naturally, Blackbird listened intently, and now read the riddle that had greatly puzzled him. The tribe of Plain Crees have men curious ceremonials and superstitions. One 0 these is that when a war-party suffers severe loss, a fast is appointed, which no member of the par?! is allowed to break under penalty of death. hey are also forbidden to hunt either beast or human being. ’Tis seldom they attempt tobreak this observance, for their superstition is great, and they firmly believe such disobedience would be promptly garnished by Wahcatunca. As the c 'ef sat down, all eyes were turned toward Fox-foot. He saw that they expected him to report, and so rose to his feet, yet in such a manner that the flre~light fell mainly upon the ide of his face partial] covered by the bandage. “ Brothers—Fox‘foo is here. He took the trail of the Omaha dog, and followed it Ion . He . found finds in white skins—men who r0 the hands of the Plain Cree of their furs and skins. But their hearts weakened as they shed the blood of warriors. They have slunk away, like wolves when the hunter comes. Their lodge is empty. It stands by the Black Lake. Their toes point toward the south.” “ if Fox-foot met no enemies, whose hand wounded him?” asked the gray-haired chief. “ His own. A panther snarled at hM' Fox- foot went to shoot, and his arrow 3 lit. fie has only one eye, now," promptly rep led the guised chief. o ’ ' Old Kit and His Comrade... 1'1 ' The Cree chiefs seemed buried in thought. Blackbird arose and left the lodge, unchallenged. Doubtless, they believed he was seeking his own lodge, to break his fast. But the Omaha bud no such thought. He knew well that, if Fox—foot had asquaw, she would at once detect the imposition. And this was his time, if it was done at all, to learn Where Etiwee was kept. On that night he must free her. The sky above was shrouded in a mantle of thick gray clouds. Only [or the snow, the night would have been one of intense darkness. As it was, Objects were dimly visible. Moving slowly through the village, the dis- guised chief seemed deep-buried in thought, but his eye shot keen glances into the door of each lodge as he passed. Still, he did not find that which he scught. Though he knew—~if only from the words of the Cree chief—.that Etiwee was in the Village, he could see nothing of her now. A number of the lodges were dark and still; the doors of these were tight closed. That they were occupied, the occasional glimmer of light, through some tiny chink or crevice, plainly told the chief. . With wonderful stillness and patience, Black- bird began his visits to these. stealing along like some spirit of the departed, choosing the darkest paths, carefully avaidinn' the observation of the few moving figures. With heart and soul fully interested in the quest, he paid no heed to the lapse of time. ' At the hack of. one of the cabins he paused and. listened intently. From within he could hear the faint, indistinct murmui'ing of human voices. Disappointed so often, a peculiar thrill now agitated his frame. It was as though something whispered in his ear that the lost one was nigh—that his stolen Etiwee was within this frail hut, almost within reach of his arms. The lodge was built of small logs, chinked with swamp-mud and chopped grass, now hard- ened by time and frost almost to the consistency of roe . Not a limmer of light was visible u n that side. T is cabin was an exception. 6 others did not lack ventilation. At this moment Blackbird started, glared uickly around. then crouched close down be- side the wall, one hand clutching his knife-heft. Then he waited impatiently for the‘ explana- tion. A shrill, angr yell had rung out upon the night air, quic y followed by another of dif- ferent cadence, that seemed a signal. Then a. gradually-swelling murmur ran through the zillage, and dark forms flitted rapidly to and r0. Blackbird scarce knew what to think; then he held his breath, as he heard some one leava the cabin beside which he was hiding. A nick glance showed him an old brave, as he g ided by. Acting on the impulse, Blackbird glided round the corner, hoping to gain uglimpse of the in- terior before the door shoul close; then he used as if trifled. Two voices met his ear. he first—sot and silvery as the song of a blw bird in springtime—said, speaking the Cree dia- lect imperfectly; “ What is the meaning of these cries?” “That some enemy is prowling round the Cree village. But the dog will learn a lesson— his scalp Will blacken in the smoke ofa war- rior’s lodge,” bitterly added another voxce, harsh, cracked and dissonant. ‘ At last Blackbird‘s search was rewarded by, success—he had found his ‘Lquaw; the iiist speaker was Etiwee. He sprung to his feet and took one step for- j ward, her name trembling upon his tongue; but then he paused. ’ A number of silently-moving forms met his eye. He saw they Were Cree warriors—that I they were swiftly surrounding the village. lie knew that were he to attempt the rescue then, discovery was inevitable, and discovery, to him, at least, meant death. With an eilort that required far more courage than to have charged a score of enemies, Black- bird checked his impulse, and drew hack into I the dense shadow. ‘ At the same moment, he uttered a. low, pecu- ‘ " liar chirp, something similar to that of the bird he had taken his name from. Etiwee started and uttered a little cry.‘ The old squaw, sus- picions, demanded what had startled her. “Nothing—’Lis the cold. The wind whistles stran ely to-night. Come—I have heard enough. I an erstand all, now,” quietly returned the Omaha squaw, pronouncing the last words very . z distinctly. .With a smile, Blackbird heard them; He. knew that Etiwee had read his signal aright. She would be upon the watch, now, ready 4}.) r aid him. But now he was recalled to a sense of the peril V that seemed threatening him. A low cry came " from one point, seemingly just without the v‘il- , ‘ loge. It was taken up and rapidly'passed from ' mouth to month. until the word ran entirer around the village. Blackbird understood its meaning. The surround was complete, than: town was about to be searched. ; ‘ He glanced uickly around. Near thecouircil u ' lodge he belied a score of warriors, bearing f lighted torches. Escape seemed impossible, ex- f ce t by boldly running the gantlet. » a , i- hen his eyes glistened. The second lad e .f, from where he crouched, counting toward s torch-bearers. differed in one icular from a those around it. Its roof, near y flat, we ,dark' and black—the others were white. covered with athick layer of snow. He knew that this roof ' 1 had been repaired since the last snow-510ml ; that the dark appearance was caused by the pine leaves. . a. To reach this cabin, he must pass over a , lighted by the bright glare of a fire. Y e; did not hesitate, but sprun forward, lightly, --2 noiselessly, et With the s of an arrow fresh fired irom t estring. , . A . Crouching beside the cabin, he listened intuit“. i, 13. No warning yell announced his discovery,r he move had been unnoticed. . . ' Slingin _the strung bow across his back,“ 3 Blackbi lifted his hands and themaover, 4 the rough wall. A grim smi curled his lip. ‘ The task was an easy one. . " . J With toe in one crevice. both other, he drew up his tail form, and as ed dig. 18 ’ roof. Gently he la down, that the rustling leaves might not ve the alarm. U n the dark roof he trusted to pass unnotice abythe searchers, who would then believe he h fled 1i ' from the village at the first alarm. Blackbird was right in his belief that the alarm was caused by his presence in the camp. His disguise was now known to all. The genuine Fox-foot had not set forth upon his mission alone. At the river-bed the two , scouts separated, each taking up a trail. Fox- .zfv' foot selected that leading to the cabin in the woods; his brother followed the trail of Kit ' Duncan, made as he returned from visiting the ‘1 §; 3 5, it; ' tra . . ;= Wgsith wonderful skill the latter managed to keep the trail until it ended near the cabin. He verod this and scouted around until he saw L the dis ised chief and Kit Duncan steal away lfj throu the forest. At first he believed this 5.3 was his comrade, but a sentence, caught as they ; passed. told him different, since it was English, ", and Fox-foot was ignorant of that language. '. Believing his friend was still in the vicmity. ’. the Cree did not follow the adventurers at once. ‘9'; Aided b the gloom, be carefully examined the 32:. cabin, tening upon every side. No sound reached his ear: he knew it was deserted. Pass- .» -ing round the spot, he entered the gully, the more effectually to conceal his passage. Abru tl he sunk knee-deep in soft snow. His foot r upon something that felt unnatural. He thrust down one hand, and felt the face of a corpse. Scraping the snow away, be carefully ’ his fingers over the broad breast. The scars told him that Fox-foot had trod his last ' trail—that his brother was dead. And more, as - he felt to see if the scout had been seal (1, his fingers rubbed upon the stiff, short ristles, showiiig that the seal -lock alone had been cut 08. at only dead— ox-foot was dishonored. Wild with anger. burning for vengeance, the Cree glided away from the spot, heading for his vill e. Gaining this, he burst upon the council. ' short y after B ackbird left the building. and . rapidly made his report. Thus the imposture was exposed—for the ca ture of the daring man .who had so deeply insul ed an entire tribe, the ‘ :2 cordon was stretched round the village, and ~19; torches repared to search every inch of ground ', withini l mite, while other braves were with- , out to scour the neighboring hills and forest. 5 Rapidly yet thoroughly the village was search- _' I ed,.and r_ had so _.r_, a.-- 3.2-. ., .