ast. The horse for _her_," said the trapper to
himself with some satisfaction; "I knowed that Whitewing would have
everything straight--even though he _is_ in a raither stumped condition
just now."

As he spoke, Brighteyes ran towards the wigwam, and looked in at the
door. Next moment she went to the steed which Little Tim had, in his
own mind, set aside for "_her_," and vaulted into the saddle as a young
deer might have done, had it taken to riding.

Of course Tim was greatly puzzled, and forced to admit a second time
that he had over-estimated his own cleverness, and was again off the
scent. Before his mind had a chance of being cleared up, the skin
curtain of the wigwam was raised, and Whitewing stepped out with a
bundle in his arms. He gave it to Little Tim to hold while he mounted
his somewhat restive horse, and then the trapper became aware--from
certain squeaky sounds, and a pair of eyes that glittered among the
folds of the bundle that he held the old woman in his arms!

"I say, Whitewing," he said remonstratively, as he handed up the bundle,
which the Indian received tenderly in his left arm, "most of the camp
has started. In quarter of an hour or so there'll be none left. Don't
'ee think it's about time to look after _her_?"

Whitewing looked at the trapper with a perplexed expression--a look
which did not quite depart after his friend had mounted, and was riding
through the half-deserted camp beside him.

"Now, Whitewing," said the trapper, with some decision of tone and
manner, "I'm quite as able as you are to carry that old critter. If
you'll make her over to me, you'll be better able to look after _her_,
you know. Eh?"

"My brother speaks strangely to-day," replied the chief. "His words are
hidden from his Indian friend. What does he mean by `_her_'?"

"Well, well, now, ye are slow," answered Tim; "I wouldn't ha' believed
that anything short o' scalpin' could ha' took away yer wits like that.
Why, of course I mean the woman ye said was dearer to 'ee than life."

"That woman is here," replied the chief gravely, casting a brief glance
down at the wrinkled old visage that nestled upon his breast--"my
mother."

"Whew!" whistled the trapper, opening his eyes very wide indeed. For
the third time that day he was constrained to admit that he had been
thrown completely off the scent, and that, in regard to cleverness, he
was no better than a "squawkin' babby."

But Little Tim said never a wor