an girl. Her black hair swept his sleeve,
her broken arm drooped like the wing of a wounded bird.

Once she roused herself to say. "My grandmother will not like these
people to come to our tent. We live alone like the beasts in the forest."

But Barbara, Ruth, Grace and Mollie trudged on after Naki. While silently
by their side walked Reginald Latham.

CHAPTER XIII

THE WIGWAM

"How much farther must we walk, Naki?" asked Mollie, after an hour's hard
tramping. "Surely Eunice and her grandmother must live somewhere near.
Eunice could not have traveled such a distance to our hut every day."

"An Indian girl flies like the wind," Naki answered. "But another half
hour will find us at the wigwam. The Indian woman lives in her tent. She
will have nothing like the white race, neither house, nor friendships.
She is the last of a lost race. She and the child live alone on the hill.
Sometimes other Indians visit them, those of the race who have studied
and become as white men. They have taught the child what she knows. But
Mother Eunice, as the grandmother is known, still smokes her pipe by an
open fireside."

"Is the old woman also named Eunice?" Ruth inquired curiously. "I do not
understand. Eunice is not an Indian name."

Reginald Latham, who was walking next Ruth, panted with the exertion of
climbing the hill; his breath came quick and fast. He seemed intent on
Naki's answer to Ruth's simple question.

"Eunice is a family name in these parts among a certain tribe of Indians.
But you are right; it is not properly speaking an Indian name. Many years
ago a little girl named Eunice, the daughter of a white man, was stolen
by the Indians. She grew up by their firesides and married an Indian
chief. In after years, she would never return to her own people. And so
her children and her children's children have from that day borne the
name of Eunice. The Mohawk Indians have the white man's blood as well as
the red man's in their veins."

Mollie was walking near Eunice, whom Naki still carried in his arms, and
then Mollie would lean over every now and then and gently touch the
child. Once or twice, during their long walk, she thought the little
Indian girl lost consciousness. But never once did Eunice moan or give a
cry of pain.

"Over there," said Naki finally, "lies the Indian wigwam." He pointed in
front of him, where a solitary hill rose before them, shaded by dense
woods.

"But I can't see an opening there,"