between the steep high banks of a coulee. The trees
gradually thinned out, and a wide swath of the starry sky showed
overhead. Colina's heart rose steadily.

The Indians could not possibly find the place where they had left the
trail until daylight.

They would instantly understand their own stratagem, of course, but
they must lose still more time, searching the bed of the creek for
tracks leaving it. If only the horses had been fresher!

Finally Nesis left the bed of the creek, and urged her horse obliquely
up the steep side of the coulee on the left.

This was the side farther from the lower village, and the Enterprise
trail, and Colina wondered if she had not made a mistake.

Mounting over the rim of the coulee a superb night-view was open to
them. Before them rolled the bald prairie wide as the sea, with all
the stars of heaven piercing the black dome overhead.

It was still and frosty; the horses breathed smoke. To Colina's
nostrils rose the delicate smell of the rich buffalo grass, which cures
itself as it grows. The tired horses, excited by it, pawed the earth,
and pulled at the lines.

They halted, and Nesis turned her face up, fixing their position by the
stars. She finally pointed to the southeast. Colina knew it was
southeast because when she faced in that direction the north star,
friend of every traveler by night, was over her left shoulder.

"But the Kakisa village, the trail back to Enterprise is there," she
objected, pointing northeast.

Nesis nodded. With her graceful and speaking gestures she informed
Colina that all the country that way was covered with almost
impenetrable woods through which they could not ride without a trail.

Southeast, the prairie rolled smoothly all the way to the great river
that came from the distant high mountains.

"The spirit river?" asked Colina.

Nesis nodded, adding in dumb-show that when they reached its banks they
would make a raft and float down to Fort Enterprise.

"Good!" said Colina. "Let's ride on. The moon will be up later.
We'll camp by the first water that we come to."

CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE TRIAL.

Mr. Wilfred Pascoe, K.C., arose and cleared his throat musically. He
drew out his handkerchief, polished his glasses, returned the
handkerchief, and paused suggestively.

Mr. Pascoe was assured that he was the leading attraction at the trial
of Ambrose Doane, and that the humming crowd which filled every corner
of the court-room