Finally came the day of his release. There was rejoicing over all the
land. The desolate hills that harbored wailing voices nightly now were
hushed and still. Only gladness filled the air. A crowd gathered around
the jail to greet the chieftain. His son stood at the entrance way,
while the guard unlocked the prison door. Serenely quiet, the old
Indian chief stepped forth. An unseen stone in his path caused him to
stumble slightly, but his son grasped him by the hand and steadied his
tottering steps. He led him to a heavy lumber wagon drawn by a small
pony team which he had brought to take him home. The people thronged
about him--hundreds shook hands with him and went away singing native
songs of joy for the safe return to them of their absent one.

Among the happy people came Blue-Star Woman's two nephews. Each shook
the chieftain's hand. One of them held out an ink pad saying, "We are
glad we were able to get you out of jail. We have great influence with
the Indian Bureau in Washington, D.C. When you need help, let us know.
Here press your thumb in this pad." His companion took from his pocket a
document prepared for the old chief's signature, and held it on the
wagon wheel for the thumb mark. The chieftain was taken by surprise. He
looked into his son's eyes to know the meaning of these two men. "It is
our agreement," he explained to his old father. "I pledged to pay them
half of your land if they got you out of jail."

The old chieftain sighed, but made no comment. Words were vain. He
pressed his indelible thumb mark, his signature it was, upon the deed,
and drove home with his son.


* * * * *