After a brief council in the Painted Wigwam of the agonized but stoic father, Peetohpeekiss,2 orders were given that a runner make swiftly through the village, commanding the braves to attend their chief in the recovery, whether dead or alive, of the young and royal Wun-nes-tou.

Over the timbered ridges carpeted with needles of pine, down through the rocky glades with their silvery streams of tumbling water, swept the infuriated savages, gorgeous in war paint and splendid trappings. After many hours they entered a tiny valley which the enchanted brush of Spring had painted in undulating folds of green, arabesqued with myriads of bright wild flowers. Just opposite, at the edge of the interrupted forest, appeared a solitary horse bearing an inert bronze figure, devoid both of tomahawk and shield, and whose once superb crest of eagle feathers now drooped broken and formless. By his side walked William Dunsmuir, putting out an occasional steadying hand or giving an encouraging word to the wounded but valiant Indian boy, who, on seeing the advancing band of the Blackfoot warriors, headed by his magnificent father, straightened himself proudly, and

2 The Eagle Ribs.

laying one hand on the shoulder of his white friend and savior, lifted the other in silent salutation.

Peetoh peekiss rode straight to his side and, without attempting to conceal his joy, took his son in his arms and kissed the smooth brown cheek with the soft, noiseless caress of the Indian.

The characteristically brief explanations revealed that an arrow wound had unhorsed the boy in a patch of chaparral, where he had managed to conceal himself until the last faint whoop of the pursuing enemy had floated to him over the hills. Then, realizing the certainty of their return, he endeavored to escape, and had painfully crept to a spring a half mile down the cañon, where the kind white brother found him. The kind brother examined the wounded shoulder. He put his own mouth to the tear, thus extracting the poison. He hid him in the brush and gave him food. Being revived, he had asked to return to the Painted Wigwam of his father, where a council might ponder a suitable reward. The kind white brother had given his horse and assistance.

The throng of attentive warriors nodded and

grunted their approval, while the stately chief touched William's hand, a custom he had once observed at the Fur Company's station, and said, "The white brother must come."

William, being greatly pleased to gain the friendship of his old enemies, mounted his horse. and, riding by the side of Peetohpeekiss, headed the swarthy army toward its distant village, while the rescued boy lay on a stretcher of buffalo skins and saplings, carried by four of his devoted brothers.

After three days of games and feasting and general rejoicing, the dignified council called their new friend to the Painted Wigwam and asked that he choose a gift, either of ponies or robes or weapons of the chase. His request both angered and amazed them.

It seems, the break of morning succeeding his arrival among them found him exploring the banks of the mountain lake, whose many facile advantages had drawn the encampment to its shores. Leaving the yet quiet village far behind, he threaded the jagged boulders and dark pines which banded with somber green this portion of the placid waters. Just beyond a tangle of wild

currant whose masses of yellow bloom filled the air with bracing sweetness, he stood gazing with delight at the streamers of brilliant crimson with which the rising sun was glorifying the world.

He did not notice an Indian girl close by, who, with arms full of the pale flowers, was stepping into the canoe of birch she had secured by a slender thong of deer skin to an overhanging alder. She, equally unconscious, dropped to her knees and, while releasing the moored craft, began singing the exquisite music characteristic of her race. At the first note William turned in breathless wonder, and could neither move nor speak, for the scene, so rich in simple poetic beauty, moved him as no other he had ever viewed. His intense gaze drew the maiden's eyes, whose startled expression was immediately followed by one of shy friendliness. Paddling close to the rock on which he stood, she looked up from the flower-laden canoe in which she knelt, her black braids vivid against the yellow, and said earnestly, "I am Eehniskim. My brother it was whom thou didst save. I thank thee."

He could not answer, so great was his inner

1 The Crystal Stone.

agitation, but he caught her look and held it until the dark lashes swept downward. Then turning, she paddled swiftly across the lake which lay like a shimmering delicate-hued primrose in its fringe of green. That was all. His constant watchfulness had not given him another glimpse of her.

So, when the chief put his question to William, he received the clearly spoken answer, "I wish to wed your daughter Eehniskim." The general consternation was finally overcome by the young man's decisive and eloquent allusion to the service he had rendered the Blackfoot nation in restoring its hereditary chief, and to the promise of the honorable Peetoh peekiss to accord anything he might ask as reward. The chief reluctantly commanded that the maiden be brought before the council.

After many minutes of deathlike silence a shadow fell athwart the Painted Wigwam, and all eyes turned to The Crystal Stone, who stood awaiting her father's pleasure. Her purpleblack hair, interbraided with strips of otter, hung heavy and lustrous about the slim shoulders, almost reaching the edge of the soft tunic of