e!"

"I saw them all right!" almost laughed the boy. "Miles of them. I could
see and smell them. They smelled like smoke--like prairie fires."

"Get well right away!" chuckled the Indian. "_Very_ good to smell them."
Then to Billy: "You eat. You get ready. You ride now to Fort o'
Farewell."

So they built up the dying fire, made tea, cooked a little bacon, and
all three ate heartily.

"I'll leave you the teapot, of course," said Billy, taking a dozen
hardtack and one tin of sardines. "Slough water's good enough for me."

But Five Feathers gripped him by the arm--an iron grip--not at all with
the gentle fingers that had so recently dressed the other boy's wounded
ankle. "You not go that way!" he glared, his fine eyes dark and
scowling. "Yes, we keep teapot, but you take bread, and antelope, and
more fat fish," pointing to the sardines. "Fat fish very good for long
ride. You take, or I not let you go!"

There was such a strange severity in his dark face that Billy did not
argue the matter, but quietly obeyed, taking one loaf of bread, half
the antelope, and three tins of the "fat fish."

"Plenty prairie chicken here," explained the Indian. "I make good soup
for Little Brave."

"What a nice name to call me, Five Feathers!" smiled Jerry.

"Yes, you Little Brave," replied the Indian. "Little boy, but very big
brave."

At the last moment Jerry and his brother clasped hands. "I hate to leave
you, old man," said Billy, a little unsteadily.

"Why, I'm not afraid," answered the boy. "You and father and I all know
that I am with the best Indian in the Hudson's Bay country--we _do_ know
it, don't we, Billy?"

"I'll stake my life on that," replied Billy, swinging into his saddle.
"Remember, Jerry, it's only a hundred miles. I'll be there in two days,
and the wagon will be here in another two."

"Yes, I'll remember," replied the sick boy.

Then Billy struck rather abruptly up the half-obliterated buffalo trail.
Several times he turned in his saddle, looking back and waving his
bandanna, and each time the Indian stood erect and lifted his open palm.
The receding horse and rider grew smaller, less, fainter, then they
blurred into the horizon. The sick boy closed his eyes, that ached from
watching the fading figure. He was utterly alone, with leagues of
untracked prairie about him, alone with Five Feathers, a strange Indian,
who sat silently nearby.

When Jerry awoke, the sun was almost setting, and Five Feathers was