t a thrill. The chief was appealing to him to show the way
and he felt that he must do it. He had already the germ of an idea.

"I think I shall have a plan tomorrow, O Xingudan," he said.

When Will departed for their lodge with Inmutanka, Xingudan said to
Roka:

"What think you now, Roka, of Waditaka, once Wayaka, a captive youth,
but now Waditaka, the brave young Sioux warrior, the adopted son of
Inmutanka, who is the greatest curer of sickness among us?"

"He was as brave as any, as well as the most skillful of all those who
fought against the great beasts," replied Roka, "and you spoke truly,
Xingudan, when you said the village needed him. I make no demand that
the command of Heraka be carried out. But can we keep him, Xingudan?
Will he not go back to his own people when the chance comes?"

"That I know not, Roka, but it will be many a day before he has a chance
to return to them. The distance is great, as you know, and we concealed
from him the way we came. The knowledge of the region in which this
village stands is hidden from him."

Will's idea, as he had promised, was developed the next day. The corral
for the ponies, with one side of it against the overhanging cliff, was
strengthened greatly with stakes and brush, and at night fires were
lighted all about it, tended by relays. He knew that wild beasts dreaded
nothing so much as fire, and if any of them appeared the guards were to
beat the alarm on the war drum. There were enough people in the village
to make it easy for the watchers, and the fires would keep them warm.

Xingudan expressed his full approval of the plan, and the watch was set
that very night, Will, at his own request, being put in charge of it.
Heavily wrapped in his buffalo coat over his deerskin suit, with two
pairs of moccasins on his feet, a fur cap on his head and thick ear
muffs, he walked from fire to fire and saw that they were well fed.
There was no need to spare the wood, the valley having a great supply of
timber.

His assistants were small boys, old men and old women. The intelligence,
activity and strength of these ancient squaws always surprised William.
They were terribly weazened and withered, and far from beautiful to
look upon, but once having arrived at that condition they seemed able to
live forever, and to take a healthy interest in life as they went along.
Owing to the lack of men in the village their importance had increased
also, and they liked it. Under Will's ey