allas understood. "Hungry," she said.

He nodded again.

She had never heard a scoffing white declare that the red man is, above
all, a beggar, so she did not delay answering his mute petition. She
stooped to examine again the cuts and bruises on his feet. Then, "Wait
till I come back," she bade him, and his vigorous nod assured her that
he understood what she said. She hurried away to the shack.

She tarried only long enough to tell her father of the straggler and to
hear his objections at her "fussin'" with a "no-'count Injun."
Returning, she found her charge patiently waiting for her. As she came
up, he was facing the ford, where, amid cursing, shouting and trumpet
blares, some troopers were trying to induce the balky ambulance mules to
go aboard the boat. But when she handed him a crockery plate heaped with
boiled potatoes, cold meat and pancakes, and a piece of suet wound in a
soft white cloth, he became indifferent to the lively doings at the
landing and began to eat as if famished.

He made such rapid headway that, before Dallas realised it, the food was
gone, the plate scraped clean and the suet direly threatened. He gave
her a puzzled look as she put forth a hand objectingly.

"No, no," she said. And while she tore the soft cloth into strips, she
put the fat out of reach by slipping it into a skirt pocket.

The bandages ready, she knelt before him and tenderly swathed his
wounds.

"There!" she said, as she finished. "Now, you'd better hurry. The
soldiers are almost over, and you'll be too late to get across dry."

He scrambled up, but, ignoring her advice, put one hand through a rent
in his squaw's waist and began to search for something. Presently, he
brought forth a package done up in dirty muslin, and slowly unfastened
it. A folded paper as soiled as its wrapper fell out. It was worn
through much handling and covered with pencilled words. He handed it to
Dallas.

At first, she could not decipher it. But after studying it carefully and
placing together several detached bits she was able to make it out. It
was written scrawlingly and in a trembling hand.

"The bearer of this [it read] the good chief, Red Moon, I
commend to the gentleness and mercy of every God-fearing man
and woman. Once, out of the weakness of the flesh, he wept
under the tortures of a sun-dance. Since then he has been
abused, starved, and spat upon. Yet, hearing from me of
Christ, His suffering