e lead in my breast; and I turned from them to the rivers
and the plains that I loved. But a voice kept calling to me, 'Come, come!
Beyond the hills is a happy land. The trail is hard, and your feet will
bleed, but beyond is the happy land.' And I would not go for the voice
that spoke, and at last there came an old man in my dream and spoke to me
kindly, and said, 'Come with me, and I will show thee the way over the
hills to the Lodge where thou shalt find what thou hast lost!' And I said
to him, 'I have lost nothing'; and I would not go. Twice I dreamed this
dream, and twice the old man came, and three times I dreamed it; and then
I spoke angrily to him, as but now I did to thee; and behold he changed
before my eyes, and I saw that he was now become--" She stopped short, and
buried her face in her hands for a moment, then recovered herself.
"Breaking Rock it was I saw before me, and I cried out and fled. Then I
waked with a cry, but my man was beside me, and his arm was round my neck;
and this dream, is it not a foolish dream, my mother?"

The old woman sat silent, clasping the hands of her daughter firmly, and
looking out of the wide doorway toward the trees that fringed the river;
and presently, as she looked, her face changed and grew pinched all at
once, and Mitiahwe, looking at her, turned a startled face toward the
river also.

"Breaking Rock!" she said, in alarm, and got to her feet quickly.

Breaking Rock stood for a moment looking toward the lodge, then came
slowly forward to them. Never in all the four years had he approached this
lodge of Mitiahwe, who, the daughter of a chief, should have married
himself, the son of a chief! Slowly, but with long, slouching stride,
Breaking Rock came nearer. The two women watched him without speaking.
Instinctively they knew that he brought news, that something had happened;
yet Mitiahwe felt at her belt for what no Indian girl would be without;
and this one was a gift from her man on the anniversary of the day she
first came to his lodge.

Breaking Rock was at the door now, his beady eyes fixed on Mitiahwe's, his
figure jerked to its full height, which made him, even then, two inches
less than Long Hand. He spoke in a loud voice:

"The last boat this year goes down the river to-morrow. Long Hand, your
man, is going to his people. He will not come back. He has had enough of
the Blackfoot woman. You will see him no more." He waved a hand to the
sky. "The birds are going