e red man's love for paint and feathers,
and invariably went on the war-path unpainted and unadorned. In
civilised life he would certainly have been a Radical. How far his
objection to paint was influenced by the possession of a manly, handsome
countenance, of course we cannot tell.

To clear up the mystery of the sound which had thrilled on the sharp ear
of Eaglenose, we will return to the Indian camp, where, after the
council, a sumptuous feast of venison steaks and marrow-bones was spread
in Bounding Bull's wigwam.

Moonlight not being one of the party, and having already supped, said to
her mother that she was going to find Skipping Rabbit and have a run
with her. You see, Moonlight, although full seventeen years of age, was
still so much of a child as to delight in a scamper with her little
friend, the youngest child of Bounding Bull.

"Be careful, my child," said Brighteyes. "Keep within the sentinels;
you know that the great Blackfoot is on the war-path."

"Mother," said Moonlight, with the spirit of her little father stirring
in her breast, "I don't fear Rushing River more than I do the sighing of
the wind among the pine-tops. Is not my father here, and Whitewing?
And does not Bounding Bull guard our wigwams?"

Brighteyes said no more. She was pleased with the thorough confidence
her daughter had in her natural protectors, and quietly went on with the
moccasin which she was embroidering with the dyed quills of the
porcupine for Little Tim.

We have said that Moonlight was rather self-willed. She would not
indeed absolutely disobey the express commands of her father or mother,
but when she had made no promise, she was apt to take her own way, not
perceiving that to neglect or to run counter to a parent's known wishes
is disobedience.

As the night was fine and the moon bright, our self-willed heroine, with
her skipping playmate, rambled about the camp until they got so far in
the outskirts as to come upon one of the sentinels. The dark-skinned
warrior gravely told her to go back. Had she been any other Indian
girl, she would have meekly obeyed at once; but being Little Tim's
daughter, she was prone to assert the independence of her white blood,
and, to say truth, the young braves stood somewhat in awe of her.

"The Blackfoot does not make war against women," said Moonlight, with a
touch of lofty scorn in her tone. "Is the young warrior afraid that
Rushing River will kill and eat us?"

"The yo