ity
about him. Frank's curiosity was now greater than ever. He made up his
mind that there was something singular about this party of Crees who
seemed to be wandering in the wilderness without guns, or any means for
obtaining food, and, if possible, he meant to discover what the secret
could be.

The old Indian approached, looking suspiciously at him. Frank put out
his hand at once in a cordial manner.

"How!" he said, smiling in his engaging manner.

The other at once fell under the charm of Frank's smile.

"White boy much hurt?" he asked, looking at the dirt and blood on
Frank's left hand, where he had cut himself slightly.

"No. I had a bad fall, and feel weak. Little Mink found me lying there,
and let me come with him to your camp. I have friends above, a hunting
party under the charge of Mr. Mabie, the stockman."

He saw the old fellow move uneasily at mention of the name.

"Shoot elk?" asked the other, nodding.

"Yes, sometimes, with gun," and Frank purposely held up his repeating
rifle.

He saw the black eyes glitter enviously at sight of it, which made his
curiosity only the stronger.

"Bad! bad!" muttered the Indian, though he did not explain what he
meant; but Frank believed he must be thinking of the theft of the elk
some days previous.

"You no guns here?" he asked, and the old Indian shook his head sadly,
though a look of sudden anger also flitted across his strong face.

"Nothing, only hatchet and one knife. Take all else away when send us
out from village. No care if squaw and pappoose die from hunger. Bad!
bad! But some day p'raps Running Elk go back and make change. Wait!
wait! No sleep on trail!"

Already was Frank beginning to see behind the mystery. For some cause
this old brave and his immediate family had been chased out of the Cree
village, many miles to the northwest. Deprived of weapons, they had been
started on the river in the bullboats, to meet what fate had in store
for them.

No wonder, then, that coming unexpectedly on the dead elk Bluff had
shot, they had stolen it, for hunger stalked in their miserable camp,
and the pappooses cried for the food the braves could not supply.

The only thing that still puzzled Frank was why they had not appealed to
some of the whites. But there must be some good reason, he argued, for
this. Perhaps it was only the natural pride an Indian feels, and which
prevents him from admitting to the palefaces that he is helpless to
supply the wants