fine-looking savage returned his salutation.

"The master is good," he said. "Child-of-Light still
remembers how in that bad winter so many years ago, when
the cotton-tails and rabbits had died from the disease
that takes them in the throat, and the wild animals that
live upon them died also because there was nought to eat,
and how when disease and famine tapped at the buffalo
robe that screens the doorways of the tepees, he who is
the brother of the white man and the red man had compassion
and filled the hungry mouths."

"Ah, well, that's all right, Child-of-Light," lightly
said Douglas, wondering what the chief had come to say.
He understood the red man's ways, and knew he would learn
all in good time.

But the chief would not eat or drink. He would, however,
smoke, and helped himself from the pouch that Douglas
offered. He let his blanket fall from his shoulders, and
underneath there showed a richly-wrought shirt of true
barbaric grandeur. On a groundwork of crimson flannel
was wrought a rare and striking mosaic in beads of blue
and yellow and red. The sun glowed from his breast,
countless showy ermine tails dangled from his shoulders,
his arms and his sides like a gorgeous fringe, and numerous
tiny bells tinkled all over him as he moved. His features
were large and marked, his forehead, high, and his nose
aquiline. His Mongolian set eyes were dark and full of
intellect, his expression a strange mixture of alertness,