s
to the poor, sorrowing hearts that mourned for them at home. Tom's brain
was always busy in planning some mode of escape for himself and his
little charges. But, as he was still closely guarded, never being left
alone for an instant, night or day, and as the children slept in the
wigwam of Ka-te-qua, whose eyes seemed never intended to close, he
concluded to wait patiently rather than to risk the lives of all three
by an unsuccessful attempt.

Meantime, Ka-te-qua's strong arms grew feeble, her arrow became less
fatal in its aim, and her strange fits of moodiness filled Rudolph and
Kitty with dread.

For hours she would sit at the entrance of her wigwam, chanting
mournfully in the Indian tongue. At such times she would compel the
children to remain within,--becoming frantic with crazy rage should they
attempt to force past her into the pleasant sunshine; and they would sit
together in the shadow, hoping that by some whim she would walk away, or
that the long, long chant would cease. One afternoon she kept them
waiting in this way for hours. The sun sank lower and lower into the
distant prairie, and the crimson clouds faded to a dull gray. Rudolph
and Kitty sat listening to the wailing tones of Ka-te-qua's voice until,
as the evening grew dark and chilly, they found for themselves a scanty
supper of parched corn, and after whispering their simple prayer, groped
their way to bed.

The strange old creature ceased singing after a while, and entered the
wigwam. They could distinguish her form as she slowly moved about,
before throwing herself down near the entrance to indulge in her usual
cat-like sleep. Afraid to speak to her, for they were not quite sure in
what mood she might be, they watched her movements as well as they
could, and at last felt sure that she was tottering slowly toward them.

Kitty clasped Rudolph's neck more tightly, and broke into a frightened
sob. In an instant, they felt her hand steal very gently over their
tumbled curls.

"Night! night!" she whispered softly.

"Good-night, Ka-te-qua," they answered in a breath, for their fear was
all gone now.

"Night, night," repeated the voice, as kindly as their own mother could
have said it, and after giving each a caressing stroke, their old friend
moved softly away.

Very early the next morning the children were awakened by a buzzing of
many voices. Ka-te-qua had been found lying stiff and cold at the
entrance of her wigwam. Not a trace of injury