Ruth cried; "neither smoke, nor
anything to suggest that people are living on that hill."

Naki smiled wisely. "The Indians have forgotten much of their father's
wisdom," he declared. "But not yet have they forgotten how to hide in
their own forests."

"Do you think I had better go ahead, Naki?" Bab queried. "Some one ought
to tell the grandmother that Eunice is hurt. Since I am responsible for
the accident, it is my place to break the news to her. I will run on
ahead."

"Not alone, Bab!" protested loyal Ruth. "You are no more responsible for
Eunice's injury than the rest of us. It just happened to be your shot
that wounded her. It might just as easily have been mine. How could we
have dreamed the child was hiding in the underbrush? I shall go ahead
with you."

"Better keep with me," enjoined Naki. "You could not find your way to the
wigwam. We have followed the 'Lost Man's Trail.' When we get up to the
tent, keep a little in the background. The Indian woman is very old. She
cannot forgive easily. It is best that I explain to her as well as I can.
I will go first, alone, with the child."

Eunice stirred a little on Naki's shoulder. "The little one," she
declared feebly. "She of the pale face and the hair like the sun. I wish
her to go with me to the tent of my grandmother." And Eunice pointed with
her uninjured arm toward Mollie.

Under a canopy formed of the interlaced branches of great hemlock trees
stood an Indian wigwam. It looked as much a part of the landscape as the
trees themselves. The rains and the sun had bleached it to an ashen gray.
Outside the tent hung a bunch of arrows. Against the side leaned a long
bow. A fire near by had been hastily covered over. But nowhere about was
there a sign of human life.

"Your grandmother has heard the footsteps of strangers approaching," Naki
said to Eunice. "Let her know that you are here."

Naki set the little girl down on her feet. Mollie stood by her; but Bab,
Ruth, Grace and Reginald Latham were concealed by some thick bushes a few
yards away.

Eunice spoke a few words in the Indian tongue. Suddenly the flap of the
wigwam opened, revealing an aged Indian woman. She looked older than
anyone that the girls had ever seen before. Her brown face was a network
of fine wrinkles; but her black eyes blazed with youthful fire. She was
tall and straight like the pine trees in her own forest. The old woman
wore an ordinary woolen dress. Over her shoulders she had thrown