to his people, and thus, while seeking the salvation of
their souls, also bring about a reconciliation between them and their
hereditary foe, Bounding Bull."

"It's Rushin' River as is the enemy," cried Little Tim, interrupting,
for when his feelings were excited he was apt to become regardless of
time, place, and persons, and the allusion to his son's wife's father--
of whom he was very fond--had roused him. "Boundin' Bull would have bin
reconciled long ago if Rushin' River would have listened to reason, for
he is a Christian, though I'm bound to say he's somethin' of a queer
one, havin' notions of his own which it's not easy for other folk to
understand."

"In which respect, daddy," remarked Big Tim, using the English tongue
for the moment, and allowing the smallest possible smile to play on his
lips, "Bounding Bull is not unlike yourself."

"Hold yer tongue, boy, else I'll give you a woppin'," said the father
sternly.

"Dumb, daddy, dumb," replied the son meekly.

It was one of the peculiarities of this father and son that they were
fond of expressing their regard for each other by indulging now and then
in a little very mild "chaff," and the playful threat to give his son a
"woppin'"--which in earlier years he had sometimes done with much
effect--was an invariable proof that Little Tim's spirit had been
calmed, and his amiability restored.

"My white father's intentions are good," said Whitewing, after another
pause, "and his faith is strong. It needs strong faith to believe that
the man who has shot the preacher shall ever smoke the pipe of peace
with Whitewing."

"With God all things are possible," returned the missionary. "And you
must not allow enmity to rankle in your own breast, Whitewing, because
of me. Besides, it was probably one of Rushing River's braves, and not
himself, who shot me. In any case they could not have known who I was."

"I'm not so sure o' that," said Big Tim. "The Blackfoot reptile has a
sharp eye, an' father has told me that you knew him once when you was in
these parts twenty years ago."

"Yes, I knew him well," returned the preacher, in a low, meditative
voice. "He was quite a little boy at the time--not more than ten years
of age, I should think, but unusually strong and brave. I met him when
travelling alone in the woods, and it so happened that I had the good
fortune to save his life by shooting a brown bear which he had wounded,
and which was on the point of killin