from home, as Gaspar had
feared, though the Sun Maid put on her peace dress and unbound her
glorious hair, ready at any moment to ride forth and meet the Indians
and to try her powers of promoting good-feeling. The Snowbird stood
saddled for many days: yet it was only upon errands of hospitality and
charity that he was needed.

Gaspar, however, was always in the saddle. When he was not riding far
afield, scouting the movements of the Black Hawk forces, he was
searching the countryside for provisions and himself guiding the
wagons that brought in the scant supplies. One evening he returned
more cheerful than he had seemed for many days and exclaimed as he
tossed aside his cap:

"This has been a good trip, for two reasons."

"What are they, dear?"

"Starvation is staved off for a while and the Indians are evidently in
grave doubts of their own success in this horrid war."

"Starvation, Gaspar? Has it been as bad as that?"

"Pretty close to it. But I've found a couple of men who had about a
hundred and fifty head of cattle, and they've driven them here into
the stockade. As long as they last, we shall manage. The other good
thing is--that the Black Hawks are sacrificing to the Evil Spirit."

"They are! That shows they are hopeless of their own success."

"Certainly very doubtful of it. It is the dog immolation. I saw one
instance myself and met a man who had come from the southwest. He has
passed them at intervals of a day's journey; always the same sort. The
wretched little dog, fastened just above the ground, the nose pointing
straight this way and the fire beneath."

"Oh, Gaspar, it's dreadful!"

"That they are discouraged? Kit, you don't mean that?"

"No. No, no! You know better. But that they are such--such heathen!"

Another voice broke in upon them:

"Heathen! Heathen, you say? Well, if ever you was right in your life,
you're right now. I never saw such folks. Here I've been cookin' and
cooking till I'm done clean through myself; and in there's come
another lot, just as hungry as t'others. Dear me, dear me! Why in the
name of common sense couldn't I have stayed back there in the woods,
and not come trapesing to Chicago to turn head slave for a lot of
folks that act as if I'd ought to be grateful for the chance to kill
myself a-waitin' on them. And say, Gaspar Keith, have you heard the
news? When did you get home?"

It was Mercy, of course, who had rushed excitedly into the house, yet
had been able