se, whose doors opened to admit
not three girls, but four.

CHAPTER IV.

THE RESCUE.

WHEN Olilie, the Indian girl, came back to consciousness, after being
put to bed at the ranch house, three days had passed. She lay between
broad sheets smelling of violets and whiter than anything she had ever
seen, except the new snow on the prairies.

Over in the corner of a big empty room sat a strange little girl. She
was sewing on some small doll clothes and humming softly to herself. Two
braids like plaited silk of the corn hung over her face. Olilie did not
recall ever having seen her before and had not the faintest idea how she
happened to be in this wonderful place, instead of the dirty hut of
Laska the Indian woman and her son Josef.

Some one else tiptoed softly into the chamber. Olilie half closed her
eyes. She remembered this other face faintly, but where and when had she
seen it?

"Hasn't she spoken yet?" a voice asked in a disappointed tone. "I am so
sorry, but I simply have to ride over the range with Jim this morning.
Some of the cattle keep disappearing. If our patient wants to talk,
please don't let her tell you everything before I get back. She must be
kept pretty quiet."

Just for a second, Olilie felt that a face bent over hers. But she gave
no sign of being awake, although she now knew where she was and how she
happened to be there. It had flashed across her memory--her flight, her
hiding and the meeting with the ranch girls. She understood that she had
been ill but was going to get well again. The hot, uncomfortable feeling
had left her head, she had no pain, only she was very weak and she did
not think that she could bear to go away from this beautiful place. If
only she could have been ill a little longer!

Olilie's wistful, black eyes were wide open, when the bedroom door
unclosed the second time. She caught a glimpse of a tall, dark figure
and a wave of terror swept over her. Already had Laska come to take her
home?

But the woman walked quietly up to the bed, took one of Olilie's thin
hands and gazed at it earnestly, turning it over in her own brown palm.
She shook her head, smoothed up the covers and nodded to Olilie not to
try to talk.

"This girl has been brought up among white people, hasn't she, Frieda?"
Aunt Ellen inquired softly.

The blonde plaits moved slightly.

"I am sure I don't know," came a faint voice from between them. "We know
nothing about her, except what Jack to