f inclined to say more. But Seth gave him no chance. He
had no love for this man. He turned on his heel without excuse and left
the hotel to attend to the preparation of the buckboard himself.

On his way home that afternoon, and all the next day, the Indians were in
his thoughts only so far as this waif he had picked up was concerned. For
the most part he was thinking of the child herself, and those to whom he
was taking her. He pictured the delight with which his childless
foster-parents would receive her. The bright-faced little woman whom he
affectionately called "Ma"; the massive old plainsman, Rube, with his
gurgling chuckle, gruff voice and kindly heart. And his thoughts stirred
in him an emotion he never would have admitted. He thought of the terrible
lot he had saved this child from, for he knew only too well why she had
been spared by the ruthless Big Wolf.

All through that long journey his watchfulness never relaxed. He looked to
the comfort of his patient although she was still unconscious. He
protected her face from the sun, and kept cool cloths upon her forehead,
and drove only at a pace which spared the inanimate body unnecessary
jolting. And it was all done with an eye upon the Reservations and
horizon; with a hearing always acute on the prairie, rendered doubly so
now, and with a loaded rifle across his knees.

It was dusk when he drove up to the farm. A certain relief came over him
as he observed the peaceful cattle grazing adjacent to the corrals, the
smoke rising from the kitchen chimney, and the great figure of Rube
smoking reflectively in the kitchen doorway.

He did not stop to unhitch the horses, just hooking them to the corral
fence. Then he lifted the child from the buckboard and bore her to the
house.

Rube watched him curiously as he came with his burden. There was no
greeting between these two. Both were usually silent men, but for
different reasons. Conversation was a labor to Rube; a twinkling look of
his deep-set eyes, and an expressive grunt generally contented him. Now he
removed his pipe from his lips and stared in open-mouthed astonishment at
the queer-looking bundle Seth was carrying.

"Gee!" he muttered. And made way for his foster son. Any questions that
might have occurred to him were banished from his slow-moving thoughts.

Seth laid his charge upon the kitchen table, and Rube looked at the
deathlike face, so icy, yet so beautiful. A great broad smile, not
untouched with