r. On the
outer rim of this apex was a fringe of rocks and low bushes. It was, in
fact, a natural fortress, which seemed so suitable for us in our
circumstances that we at once set about making our camp on the top of
it. We took care, however, to kindle our fire in the lowest-lying and
densest thicket we could find at the foot of the mound. We also made
the fire as small and free from smoke as possible, for fear of
attracting any one to the spot.

While I was busy down in the dell preparing the tea, Salamander having
been left to take care of the camp on the mound, Big Otter came to me.
I was alarmed by the solemn expression of his face.

"Nothing wrong, I hope?" said I, anxiously.

"The wife of Weeum the Good is dying," said the Indian, mournfully.

"Oh! say not so," I exclaimed, "how dreadful to poor Waboose if this
were to happen just now! You must be mistaken."

"Big Otter may be mistaken. He is not a medicine-man, but he saw a
young girl of his tribe with the same look and the same flow of blood
from the mouth, and she died."

"God forbid!" I exclaimed, as I took up the kettle in which the tea was
being made. "See, it is ready, I will take it to her. It may at least
revive her."

I hurried to the top of the mound, where poor Eve sat by the couch of
brush we had spread, holding her mother's hand and gazing into her face
with painful anxiety. She looked up hastily as I approached, and held
up a finger.

"Does she sleep?" I asked, in a low voice, as I seated myself beside
the couch and set down the kettle.

"Yes--I think so--but--"

She stopped, for at the moment her mother opened her eyes, and looked
wistfully round.

"Weeum!" she murmured, in a faint voice. "I thought I heard him speak."

"No, dear mother," said Eve, beginning to weep silently. "Your spirit
was in the land of dreams."

"See," said I, pouring some hot tea into a cup and stirring it. "I have
brought you some of the pale-faces' sweet-water. I always carry a
little of it about with me when I go hunting, and had some in my wallet
when we started on this wild race. Was it not fortunate? Come, take a
little, it will strengthen you, mother."

It was the first time I had called her mother, and I did so from a
feeling of tenderness, for she seemed to me at the time certainly to be
dying; but she misunderstood my meaning, for she looked at me with
pleased surprise, and then laughed very softly as she glanced at Eve. I
perce