. Know how."

"Is Send Warning hungry?"

"Not now. Eat enough. Great chief and warriors go after Lipans.
Pale-faces stay in camp."

"They will all eat a heap when they come back. Bring Lipan scalps,
too."

"The Lipans are enemies of the Apaches. The Mexicans are friends."

"The Mexicans!" exclaimed Dolores.

"Yes. Great chief marry Mexican squaw. Handsome. Good cook."

"I am an Apache!"

"Yes, Apache now. Mexican long ago. Forget all about it. All about
Santa Maria--"

"No, no; the talking leaf remembers that." And the poor woman
nervously snatched from her bosom the leaf of the magazine on which was
printed the picture of the Virgin and Child, and held it out to Murray.

He could but dimly see what it was, but he guessed right, for he said
instantly,

"You remember that, do you? I suppose you never knew how to read. Not
many of 'em do down there. The Apaches came one day and carried you
off. Horses, mules, cattle, good cook--killed all the rest."

"How do you know?" suddenly interrupted Dolores. "I remember all that.
Don't want to, but I can't help it. Same thing happen a great many
times. Apaches are great warriors. Many Bears is a great chief.
Bring back heap of prisoners every time."

She was telling Murray what he wanted to know, but he saw that he must
ask his questions carefully, for, as he said to himself, "I never saw a
woman so completely Indianized. She is more of an Apache than a
Mexican now."

He talked and Dolores answered him, and all the while the two girls
heard every word.

Ni-ha-be would have liked to make comments every now and then, and it
was quite a trial to be compelled to keep so still, but Rita would not
have spoken on any account. It seemed to her as if Dolores were
telling all that to her instead of to Send Warning. She found herself
thinking almost aloud about him.

"What a kind, sweet voice he has! He cannot speak Apache. I know he
is good."

In another moment she again came near betraying herself, for the words
were on her very lips before she could stop them and still them down to
an excited whisper.

"He is not talking even Mexican now. It is the tongue of the talking
leaves, and I can hear what he says."

More than that, for she soon found that she could repeat them over and
over to herself, and knew what they meant.

Murray had talked to Dolores as long as was permitted by Indian ideas
of propriety, and it was just as he was turning