"Yes--yes--no. I have not forgotten," she said, passing her hand over
her brow; "but, oh! let me go to her before I die!"

"Rising Sun shall not die. She is among friends now. The pale-faced
enemies who killed Little Beaver can do her no harm."

"Killed him--enemies!" murmured the poor girl, as if perplexed; then,
quickly, "Yes--yes--he is dead. Does not Rising Sun know it? Did she
not see it with her own eyes? He was killed--killed!"

The poor girl's voice rose as she spoke until it was almost a shriek.

"Rising Sun," said the chief, in a tone which the girl could not choose
but obey, "tell us who killed him?"

"Killed him? No one killed him!" she answered, with a return of the
perplexed look. "He missed his footing and fell over the cliff, and the
Great Spirit took him."

"Then the palefaces had nothing to do with it?" asked the chief eagerly.

"Oh! yes; the palefaces had to do with it. They were there, and Rising
Sun saw all that they did; but they did not see her, for when she saw
them coming she hid herself, being in great fear. And she knew that
Little Beaver was dead. No man could fall from such a cliff and live.
Dead--dead! Yes, he is dead. Oh! let me go."

"Not yet, Rising Sun. What did the palefaces do? Did they take his
scalp?"

"No; oh! no. The palefaces were kind. They lifted him tenderly. They
dug his grave. They seemed as if they loved him like myself. Then they
went away, and then--Rising Sun forgets! She remembers running and
bounding like the deer. She cannot--she forgets!"

The poor girl stopped speaking, and put her hand to her brow as if to
restrain the tumult of her thoughts. Then, suddenly, she looked up with
a wild yet intelligent smile.

"Yes, she remembers now. Her heart was broken, and she longed to lay it
on the breast of Little Beaver's mother--who loved him so well. She
knew where the wigwams of Bearpaw stood, and she ran for them as the bee
flies when laden with honey to its home. She forgets much. Her mind is
confused. She slept, she fell, she swam, she was cold--cold and
hungry--but--but now she has come home. Oh, let me go!"

"Let her go," said the chief, in a low voice.

The young brave loosed his hold, and Rising Sun bounded from the tent.

It was dark by that time, but several camp-fires threw a lurid glare
over the village, so that she had no difficulty in finding the hut of
her dead husband's mother, for, during the interchange of sev