e Tim was beginning to think that the Blackfoot chief was, as he
expressed it, somewhat "off his head," when Moonlight ran into the room,
and seized him with her wonted energy round the neck.

"Yes, father, it's all true. I am safe, as you see, and happy."

"An' Skippin' Rabbit?" said Little Tim.

"Is in her own wigwam by this time."

As she spoke in the Indian tongue, Bounding Bull understood her. He at
once let go his hold of his old foe. Returning the knife to him, he
grasped his right hand after the manner of the pale-faces, and said--

"My brother."

By this time Eaglenose and Umqua had appeared upon the scene, and added
their testimony to that of their chief. While they were still engaged
in explanation, a low wail from Softswan turned their attention to the
corner where the preacher lay.

The prairie chief glided to the side of his old friend, and kneeled by
the couch. The others clustered round in solemn silence. They guessed
too surely what had drawn forth the girl's wail. The old man lay, with
his thin white locks scattered on the pillow, his hands clasped as if in
prayer, and with eyes nearly closed, but the lips moved not. His days
of prayer and striving on this earth were over, and his eternity of
praise and glory had begun.

We might here, appropriately enough, close our record of the prairie
chief and the preacher, but we feel loath to leave them without a few
parting words, for the good work which the preacher had begun was
carried on, not only by Whitewing, but, as far as example went--and that
was a long way--by Little and Big Tim and their respective wives, and
Bounding Bull, as well as by many of their kindred.

After the preacher's remains had been laid in the grave at the foot of a
pine-tree in that far western wilderness, Little Tim, with his son and
Indian friends, followed Bounding Bull to his camp, where one of the
very first persons they saw was Skipping Rabbit engaged in violently
agitating the limbs of her jumping-jack, to the ineffable delight of
Eaglenose.

Soon after, diplomatic negotiations were entered into between the tribe
of Bounding Bull and the Blackfeet, resulting in a treaty of peace which
bid fair to be a lasting treaty, at least as lasting as most other human
treaties ever are. The pipe of peace was solemnly smoked, the
war-hatchet was not less solemnly buried, and a feast on a gigantic
scale, was much more solemnly held.

Another result was that Rushing R