his couch. "Only a little stouter; just what
might have been expected. God has been kind to you--but, indeed, God is
kind to all, only some do not see or believe in the kindness. It is
equally kindness in Him whether He sends joy or sorrow, adversity or
prosperity. If we only saw the end from the beginning, none of us would
quarrel with the way. Love has induced Him to lay me low at present.
You have another child, I am told, besides Big Tim?"

"Yes, a daughter--Moonlight we call her," said Brighteyes, with a
pleased look.

"Is she here with you?"

"No; we left her in the camp."

"And my good old friend," he said, turning on his couch, and grasping
the withered hand of Whitewing's mother, "how has she prospered in all
these years?"

The "old one," who was, as we have said, as deaf as a post, wrinkled her
visage up into the most indescribable expression of world-embracing
benignity, expanded her old lips, displayed her toothless gums, and
chuckled.

"The dear old one," said her son, "bears the snows of many winters on
her head. Her brain could not now be touched by the thunders of
Niagara. But the eyes are still bright inlets to her soul."

"Bright indeed!" exclaimed the preacher, as he gazed with deep interest
at the old face; "wonderful, considering her great age. I trust that
these portals may remain unclosed to her latest day on earth."

He was still talking to Whitewing about her when a peculiar whistle was
heard outside, as of some water-bird.

Instantly dead silence fell upon all present, and from the fixed gaze
and motionless attitude of each it was evident that they anxiously
expected a repetition of the sound. It was not repeated, but a moment
later voices were heard outside, then a hurried step, and next instant
Big Tim sprang into the room.

"A messenger from the camp!" he cried. "Moonlight and Skipping Rabbit
have been carried off by Blackfeet."

It could easily be seen at that moment how Bounding Bull had acquired
his name. From a sitting posture he sprang to his feet at one bound,
darted through the doorway of the hut, cleared the low parapet like a
deer, and went down the zigzag path in a succession of leaps that might
have shamed a kangaroo. Little Tim followed suit almost as vigorously,
accompanying his action with a leonine roar. Big Tim was close on his
heels.

"Guard the fort, my son," gasped Little Tim, as he cut the thong that
secured his horse at the bottom of the trac