orked harder still. At last the eyes
opened wide, stayed open, saw the figure bent over him, and the lips
whispered, "Oshondonto--my master!" as a cup of brandy was held to his
lips.

* * * * *

Billy Rufus the cricketer had won the game, and somehow the Reverend
William Rufus Holly the missionary never repented the strong language he
used against the Athabascas as he was bringing Wingo back to life, though
it was not what is called "strictly canonical."

He had conquered the Athabascas forever. Even Silver Tassel acknowledged
his power, and he as industriously spread abroad the report that the
mikonaree had raised Wingo from the dead, as he had sown dissension during
the famine. But the result was that the missionary had power in the land,
and the belief in him was so great that, when Knife-in-the-Wind died, the
tribe came to him to raise their chief from the dead. They never quite
believed that he could not--not even Silver Tassel, who now rules the
Athabascas and is ruled in turn by William Rufus Holly: which is a very
good thing for the Athabascas.

THE HEALING SPRINGS AND THE PIONEERS

He came out of the mysterious South one summer day, driving before him a
few sheep, a cow, and a long-eared mule which carried his tent and other
necessaries, and camped outside the town on a knoll, at the base of which
was a thicket of close shrub. During the first day no one in Jansen
thought anything of it, for it was a land of pilgrimage, and hundreds came
and went on their journeys in search of free homesteads and good water and
pasturage. But when, after three days, he was still there, Nicolle
Terasse, who had little to do and an insatiable curiosity, went out to see
him. He found a new sensation for Jansen. This is what he said when he
came back:

"You want know 'bout him, _bagosh_! Dat is somet'ing to see, dat
man--Ingles is his name. Sooch hair--mooch long an' brown, and a leetla
beard not so brown, an' a leather sole onto his feet, and a gray coat to
his ankles--_oui_, so like dat. An' his voice--_voila_, it is like water
in a cave. He is a great man--I dunno not; but he spik at me like dis, 'Is
dere sick, and cripple, and stay-in-bed people here dat can't get up?' he
say. An' I say, 'Not plenty, but some--_bagosh_! Dere is dat Miss Greet,
an' ole Ma'am Drouchy, an' dat young Pete Hayes--an' so on.' 'Well, if
they have faith I will heal them,' he spik at me. 'From de