She knew that she could keep them away with the
fire and her revolver.

One of the wolves came quite close to the little camp and set up a howl,
and the Indian girl awoke.

"White girl go to her friends," she said to Stella. "Leave Singing Bird
to die as the Great Manitou intended."

"Indeed, I will not. I will stay with you until my friends come to me,
and then we will take you with us and nurse you."

Stella thought it was time to light the fire, and as its flames leaped
high, she felt more at ease.

When the wolves came close to the camp she fired her revolver at them,
and drove them away.

The hours passed silently, Stella rising occasionally to replenish the
fire and look at Singing Bird, who seemed to be sleeping. As a matter of
fact, the young Indian, who had been reared out-of-doors, and was
perfectly healthy, was recovering rapidly from her wound, although had
it not been for Stella she would probably not have survived the night,
for what the chill night air would not have done the wolves would have
finished.

It was long past midnight when out of the west rose a clear, welcome
shout that sounded as the sweetest music to her ear, the Moon Valley
yell, and she answered it, while the Indian girl sat up and smiled at
her.

They had been found at last.

CHAPTER XXX.

"THE WOOFER" APPEARS.

Presently Stella heard the clatter of many pony hoofs on the turf, then
a succession of yells, and Ted, Ben, and Bud galloped into the circle of
light made by her fire.

"Hello, what have we here?" asked Ted, riding up and flinging himself
from the saddle.

"I found this Indian girl, Singing Bird, daughter of Cloud Chief, lying
here with a wound in her breast that would have killed an ordinary
mortal, but I think she is getting better."

"We got worried about you when you did not return for supper, and
started out to find you. If we hadn't seen the reflection of your fire
against the sky we would have passed you by. How did this happen?"

"She tells me she is the squaw of Running Bear, with whom you had an
argument at the beef issue."

"Yes, I remember him. What about him? Why is he not here to take care of
his wife?"

"He shot her and left her here to die, because he was tired of her, and,
she says, because she would not reveal to him a secret."

"He certainly is a precious scoundrel, and deserves worse than I gave
him, and if I ever meet him again I won't do a thing to him."

"But we must get