y to the
relish of Mr. Long. This veteran of trails and mines had seen too much
of life's bleakness not to cherish whatever of mirth his days might
bring.

"Didn't burn the house?" he said.

"Not burn. Just make heap mess. Cut up feather-bed hy-as ten-as (very
small) and eat big dinner, hu-hu! Sugar, onions, meat, eat all. Then
they find litt' cats walkin' round there."

"Lor'!" said Mr. Long, deeply interested, "they didn't eat _them_?"

"No. Not eat litt' cats. Put 'em two--man-cat and woman-cat--in
molasses; put 'em in feather-bed; all same bird. Then they hunt for
whiskey, break everything, hunt all over, ha-lo whiskey!" Sarah shook
her head. "Meester Dailey he good man. Hy-iu temperance. Drink water.
They find his medicine; drink all up; make awful sick."

"I guess 'twar th' ole man's liniment," muttered Jack Long.

"Yas, milinut. They can't walk. Stay there long time, then Meester
Dailey come back with friends. They think Injuns all gone; make noise,
and E-egante he hear him come, and he not very sick. Run away. Some more
run. But two Injuns heap sick; can't run. Meester Dailey he come round
the corner; see awful mess everywhere; see two litt' cats sittin' in
door all same bird, sing very loud. Then he see two Injuns on ground.
They dead now."

"Mwell," said Long, "none of eer'll do. We'll hev to ketch E-egante."

"A--h!" drawled Sarah the squaw, in musical derision. "Maybe no catch
him. All same jack rabbit."

"Jest ye wait, Sarah; Gray Fox hez come."

"Gen'l Crook!" said the squaw. "He come! Ho! He heap savvy." She
stopped, and laughed again, like a pleased child. "Maybe no catch
E-egante," she added, rolling her pretty brown eyes at Jack Long.

"You know E-egante?" he demanded.

"Yas, one time. Long time now. I litt' girl then." But Sarah remembered
that long time, when she slept in a tent and had not been captured and
put to school. And she remembered the tall young boys whom she used to
watch shoot arrows, and the tallest, who shot most truly--at least, he
certainly did now in her imagination. He had never spoken to her or
looked at her. He was a boy of fourteen and she a girl of eight. Now she
was twenty-five. Also she was tame and domesticated, with a white
husband who was not bad to her, and children for each year of wedlock,
who would grow up to speak English better than she could, and her own
tongue not at all. And E-egante was not tame, and still lived in a tent.
Sarah regarded white peop