ard all the great chiefs talking of it all. He listened to
plans for searching the entire Reserve for a dog, and the following
morning he arose at dawn, took his own pet dog down to the river and
washed him as he had seen white men wash their sheep. Then out of the
water dashed the gay little animal, yelping and barking in play, rolling
in the snow, tearing madly about, and finally rushing off towards the
log house which was We-hro's home and scratching at the door to get in
by the warm fire to dry his shaggy coat. Oh! what an ache that coat
caused in We-hro's heart. From a dull drab grey, the dog's hair had
washed pure white, not a spot or a blemish on it, and in an agony of
grief the little pagan boy realized that through his own action he had
endangered the life of his dog friend; that should his father and his
father's friends see that small white terrier, they would take it away
for the nation's sacrifice.

Stumbling and panting and breathless, We-hro hurried after his pet, and,
seizing the dog in his arms, he wrapped his own shabby coat about the
trembling, half-dry creature, and carried him to where the cedars grew
thick at the back of the house. Crouched in their shadows he hugged his
treasured companion, thinking with horror of the hour when the blow
would surely fall.

For days the boy kept his dog in the shelter of the cedars, tied up
tightly with an old rope, and sleeping in a warm raccoon skin, which
We-hro smuggled away from his own simple bed. The dog contented himself
with what little food We-hro managed to carry to him, but the hiding
could not keep up forever, and one dark, dreaded day We-hro's father
came into the house and sat smoking in silence for many minutes. When
at last he spoke, he said:

"We-hro, your dog is known to me. I have seen him, white as the snow
that fell last night. It is the law that someone must always suffer for
the good of the people. We-hro, would you have the great 'Black-Coat,'
the great white preacher, come to see our beautiful ceremony, and would
you have the great Onondaga tribe fail to show the white man how we
worship our ancient Great Spirit? Would you have us fail to burn the
sacrifice? Or will you give your white dog for the honor of our people?"

The world is full of heroes, but at that moment it held none greater
than the little pagan boy, who crushed down his grief and battled back
his tears as he answered:

"Father, you are old and honored and wise. For you