The men cleaned
this room and laid down a carpet of deer hides, fur side up. A bed was
made of a huge roll of buffalo skins, flattened and shaped, and covered
with Indian blankets. When all this had been accomplished the trapper
removed his fur cap, scratched his grizzled head, and appealed to Neale
and King.

"I reckon you can fetch over some comfortable-like necessaries--fixin's
fer a girl," he suggested.

Red King laughed in his cool, easy, droll way. "Shore, we'll rustle fer
a lookin'-glass, an' hair-brush, an' such as girls hev to hev. Our camp
is full of them things."

But Neale did not see any humor in Slingerland's perplexity or in the
cowboy's facetiousness. It was the girl's serious condition that worried
him, not her future comfort.

"Run out thar!" called Slingerland, sharply.

Neale, who was the nearest to the door, bolted outside, to see the girl
sitting up, her hair disheveled, her manner wild in the extreme. At
sight of him she gave a start, sudden and violent, and uttered a
sharp cry. When Neale reached her it was to find her shaking all over.
Terrible fear had never been more vividly shown, yet Neale believed she
saw in him a white man, a friend. But the fear in her was still stronger
than reason.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"My name's Neale--Warren Neale," he replied, sitting down beside her.
He took one of the shaking hands in his. He was glad that she talked
rationally.

"Where am I?"

"This is the home of a trapper. I brought you here. It was the best--in
fact, the only place."

"You saved me--from--from those devils?" she queried, hoarsely, and
again the cold and horrible shade veiled her eyes.

"Yes--yes--but don't think of them--they're gone," replied Neale,
hastily. The look of her distressed and frightened him. He did not know
what to say.

The girl fell back with a poignant cry and covered her eyes as if to
shut out a hateful and appalling sight. "My--mother!" she moaned,
and shuddered with agony. "They--murdered--her!... Oh! the terrible
yells!... I saw--killed--every man--Mrs. Jones! My mother--she fell--she
never spoke! Her blood was on me!... I crawled away--I hid!... The
Indians--they tore--hacked--scalped--burned!... I couldn't die!--I
saw!... Oh!--Oh!--Oh!" Then she fell to moaning in inarticulate fashion.

Slingerland and King came out and looked down at the girl.

"Wal, the life's strong in her," said the trapper. "I reckon I know when
life is strong in any critte