aid Billy. "He'll show us a way out of this. Yes, he's
Indian. I can see his long hair now. Look! I can see the fringe up the
sleeves of his shirt; it is buckskin!"

"Do you think he sees us?" questioned Jerry.

Billy laughed contemptuously. "Sees us! Why, he saw us long before we
saw him, you can bet on that!"

Then Billy raised his arm, and whirled about his head the big bandanna
handkerchief which he had snatched from his neck. The man responded to
the signal by lifting aloft for a single instant his open palm with
fingers outstretched.

"Yes, he's Indian! A white man would have wiggled his wrist at us!"
sighed Jerry contentedly. "He'll help us out, Billy. There's nothing he
won't know how to do!" And the little boy's eyes grew moist with the
relief of knowing help was at last at hand.

Ten minutes more and the man slowed up beside them. He was a tall,
splendidly made Cree, with eyes like jewels and hands as slender and
small as a woman's.

"You savvy English?" asked Billy.

"Little," answered the Indian, never looking at Billy, but keeping his
wonderful eyes on the outstretched figure, the pallid face, of young
Jerry, whose forehead was wrinkled with evident pain.

"We have met with an accident," explained Billy. "My little brother's
horse loped into a badger hole and broke its leg. I had to shoot it."
Here Billy's voice choked, and his fingers touched the big revolver at
his belt. "My brother was thrown. He landed badly; something's wrong
with his ankle, his leg; he can't walk; can't go on, even on my horse.
It happened over there, about two miles." Here Billy pointed across the
prairie to where a slight hump showed where the dead horse lay. "I got
him over here," he continued, looking about at the scrub poplar and
cottonwood trees, "where there was shelter and slough water, but he
can't go on. Our father is Mr. MacIntyre, the Hudson's Bay Factor at
Fort o' Farewell."

As Billy ceased speaking the Indian kneeled beside Jerry, feeling with
tender fingers his hurts. As the dark hand touched his ankle, the boy
screamed and cried out, "Oh, don't! Oh, don't!" The Indian arose,
shaking his head solemnly, then said softly, "Hudson's Bay boys, eh?
Good boys! You good boy to bring him here to trees. We make camp! Your
brother's ankle is broken."

"But we must get him home," urged Billy. "We ought to have a doctor.
He'll be lame all his life if we don't!" And poor big Billy's voice
shook.

"No. No lame. I doct