go out on a war party, happily recollected that there was Chippeway
blood near them--no farther off than their chief's wigwam; and eight or
ten braves vowed they would make an end of "Old Bets." But she heard of
their threats, left the village for a time, and after the Dahcotahs had
gotten over their mania for shedding blood, she returned, and right glad
was Good Road to see her. For she has an open, good humored countenance;
the very reverse of that of the first wife, whose vinegar aspect would
frighten away an army of small children.

After "Old Bets" returned, Good Road could not conceal his satisfaction.
His wife's trip had evidently improved her good looks, for the chief
thought she was the handsomest squaw in the village. Her children were
always taunting the sons of the first wife, and so it went on, until at
last Good Road said he would stand it no longer; he told his oldest wife
to go--that he would support her no longer. And for her children, he
told them the prairies were large; there were deer and other game--in
short, he disinherited them--cut them off with their last meal.

For the discarded wife, life had now but one hope. The only star that
shone in the blackness of her heaven, was the undefined prospect of
seeing her rival's blood flow. She would greatly have preferred taking
her life herself; and as she left the wigwam of the chief, she grasped
the handle of her knife--how quick her heart beat! it might be now
or never.

But there were too many around to protect Old Bets. The time would
come--she would watch for her--she would tear her heart from her yet.

The sons of the old hag did not leave the village; they would keep a
watch on their father and his Chippeway wife. They would not easily