espied, approaching over the village street, a tall Indian leading the
black gelding and Snowbird. Behind this man walked Osceolo; but
greatly changed from the bullying youth whom Gaspar had met on the
previous day.

Whatever had occurred in the closed tepee of Black Partridge, when its
door flaps fell behind himself and the lad he had ordered to accompany
him, nobody knew; but, whatever it was, Osceolo was certainly--at
least for the time being--a changed young person.

He walked along behind the Snake-Who-Leaps in a meek, subdued manner
quite new to him, but which immediately impressed Dark-Eye as being a
vast improvement on his former bearing. He paused, when ordered to
"Halt!" by the old man, as if he had been stricken into a wooden
image, and only when requested to take the Snowbird's bridle did he
make any other motion.

"Why, Osceolo! What's the matter?" asked the Sun Maid, running toward
him in surprise.

But he did not answer, and she was hastily snatched back by the strong
hand of the foster-mother.

"The Girl-Child speaks to none who is in disgrace."

"But I will speak to anybody who is unhappy, Other Mother! I cannot
help that, can I? One day, Osceolo was all laughing and clapping; and
now--now he looks like Peter Wilson did after his father had whipped
him with a musket. Did anybody whip you with a musket, poor, poor
Osceolo?"

Not a sign from the disgraced youth.

"Has you lost your tongue, too? Well as your eyes, that you can't look
up? Never mind, Osceolo. Kitty is sorry for you. Some day Kitty will
let you ride her beau'ful White Snowbird; some day."

"The Sun Maid will first learn to ride the Snowbird, herself,"
corrected the Snake-Who-Leaps. "She will begin now."

With unquestioning confidence, a confidence that Gaspar did not share,
she ran back to the old warrior's side, and stood on tiptoe to be
lifted into place.

"Ugh!" he grunted in satisfaction. "That is well. The one who has no
fear has already conquered the wildest animal. But the White Snowbird
is not wild. She has been given an evil name, and it has clung to her
as evil always clings," and the One-To-Be-Trusted turned to give his
silent attendant a meaning glance. But Osceolo had not yet raised his
gaze from the ground, and the reproof fell pointless.

Nobody had observed that, from another direction, another youth had
quietly led up a beautiful chestnut horse, whose cream-colored mane
and tail would have made it a conspicuo