With her snugly moccasined feet close together, and a wee hand at her
belt to stay the long string of beads which hang from her bare neck, she
bends her knees gently to the rhythm of her father's voice.

Now she ventures upon the earnest movement, slightly upward and
sidewise, in a circle. At length the song drops into a closing cadence,
and the little woman, clad in beaded deerskin, sits down beside the
elder one. Like her mother, she sits upon her feet. In a brief moment
the warrior repeats the last refrain. Again Tusee springs to her feet
and dances to the swing of the few final measures.

Just as the dance was finished, an elderly man, with short, thick hair
loose about his square shoulders, rode into their presence from the
rear, and leaped lightly from his pony's back. Dropping the rawhide rein
to the ground, he tossed himself lazily on the grass. "Hunhe, you have
returned soon," said the warrior, while extending a hand to his little
daughter.

Quickly the child ran to her father's side and cuddled close to him,
while he tenderly placed a strong arm about her. Both father and child,
eyeing the figure on the grass, waited to hear the man's report.

"It is true," began the man, with a stranger's accent. "This is the
night of the dance."

"Hunha!" muttered the warrior with some surprise.

Propping himself upon his elbows, the man raised his face. His features
were of the Southern type. From an enemy's camp he was taken captive
long years ago by Tusee's father. But the unusual qualities of the slave