spring; while the old squaw grunted in undisguised
admiration of his appetite, which bordered on the voracious.

The weary weeks of cold passed slowly. At the end of March the change
came, and the prairies suddenly leapt into life. The skies were
softer, and full of great white clouds which sailed grandly before the
wind. The long, low earthen billows were covered with grass and all
the radiant flowers of spring. Every depression of the soil was a
slough full of green water, covered with battalions of mallards and
other wild-fowl. The poplars put forth shiny leaves which glittered
restlessly in the sunshine, and the meadow-larks filled the whole world
with music.

Then Dick spoke to Peter Many-Names. "To-morrow," he said, "we will
begin to get ready, and next week we will start south again. I have
had enough of your plains."

But Peter Many-Names was quite comfortable, and found many and
plausible objections to the idea.

"Very well," said Dick quietly, "you stay here, and I will go alone.
Only you must get back my gun for me."

Peter stared. There was a change in his comrade--a change which he
could not fathom. But the day on which Dick was to start found Peter
ready to start with him. "You my brother," he grunted in explanation,
"an' I go with you. You not quite strong yet, an' so you go alone, you
get lost or starve or drown or somethin'," which was likely, though
Peter might have expressed it in a less uncomplimentary fashion.

"I can go by myself," said Dick, a little indignant, though much
relieved that the Indian had elected to go with him. But Peter only
grunted again.

"I goin'," he repeated, "come back here in spring--next spring. You
come along quick."

Many and ceremonious were the farewells between Peter and his stately
savage host. But the old squaw was the only one who grieved for the
loss of Dick; she gave him three pairs of delicately embroidered
moccasins, and then stood and watched him out of sight with dull
tearless sorrow. She had seen so many lads ride away in the distance;
and few had ever returned. Dick waved his hand to her several times,
but she did not respond; only stood and looked after him with sad, dim
old eyes.

The two travellers were accompanied by a crony of Peter's, who was to
go with them to the end of the prairie-lands, and then return to the
tribe with the three ponies they rode. They proceeded swiftly, and for
the most part in silence; for the two Ind