The next thing she knew, she was lying in the arms of a man with kind
blue eyes. He was smiling at her, and he was white! Another man,
white like himself, was rubbing her arms and legs.

"All right now," the first man was saying to the other. "Poor little
thing! How did she ever get out here? That Dahcota village is a good
dozen miles from here, and the child's moccasins tell that she is of
that tribe."

"We must waste no time in getting farther away from them ourselves,"
replied the other. "Little time would be wasted in taking our scalps
if they caught us alone."

"But we can't leave this helpless creature," said the first speaker.
"Do you know, Ben, she must be about the age of my own little daughter
if--" The man's voice broke suddenly.

"Poor fellow--yes, I understand. You never will get over that blow.
But, really, Tom, we must not stay here. The savages may be upon us
any moment. Here, use this. It may bring her to."

The speaker held out a bottle of cordial which the man who held Timid
Hare held to her lips. She tried to swallow, but it choked her.

"There," she said with a gasp, "it is enough," and she lifted herself
up.

"Good," said both men, who knew a little of the Indian tongue.

"Oh, but my shoe!" cried the little girl in fright. It had slipped a