mouth, the shadowed eyes, the straight long matted locks! It was an
Indian! Not the picturesque creature of Clarence's imagination, but
still an Indian! The boy was uneasy, suspicious, antagonistic, but
not afraid. He looked at the heavy animal face with the superiority of
intelligence, at the half-naked figure with the conscious supremacy of
dress, at the lower individuality with the contempt of a higher race.
Yet a moment after, when the figure wheeled and disappeared towards the
undulating west, a strange chill crept over him. Yet he did not know
that in this puerile phantom and painted pigmy the awful majesty of
Death had passed him by.

"Mamma!"

It was Susy's voice, struggling into consciousness. Perhaps she had been
instinctively conscious of the boy's sudden fears.

"Hush!"

He had just turned to the objective point of the Indian's gaze. There
WAS something! A dark line was moving along with the gathering darkness.
For a moment he hardly dared to voice his thoughts even to himself.
It was a following train overtaking them from the rear! And from the
rapidity of its movements a train with horses, hurrying forward to
evening camp. He had never dreamt of help from that quarter. This
was what the Indian's keen eyes had been watching, and why he had so
precipitately fled.

The strange train was now coming up at a round trot. It was evidently
well appointed with five or six large wagons and several outriders. In
half an hour it would be here. Yet he refrained from waking Susy, who