s they would be as
they waited day by day for her letters that did not come. She reflected
with a sinking heart that she had, just before leaving, written a hasty
note to her mother telling her not to expect anything for several days,
perhaps even as much as two weeks, as she was going out of civilization
for a little while. How had she unwittingly sealed her fate by that! For
now not even by way of her alarmed home could help come to her.

She put the last bit of hard corn bread in her pocket for a further time
of need, and began to look about her again. Then she spied with delight
a moving object far below her in the valley, and decided it was a horse,
perhaps her own. He was a mile away, at least, but he was there, and she
cried out with sudden joy and relief.

She went over to her blanket and bags, which had been beside her during
the night, and stood a moment trying to think what to do. Should she
carry the things to the horse or risk leaving them here while she went
after the horse and brought him to the things? No, that would not be
safe. Some one might come along and take them, or she might not be able
to find her way back again in this strange, wild waste. Besides, she
might not get the horse, after all, and would lose everything. She must
carry her things to the horse. She stooped to gather them up, and
something bright beside her bag attracted her. It was the sun shining on
the silver dollar she had given to the Indian woman. A sudden rush of
tears came to her eyes. The poor creature had tried to make all the
reparation she could for thus hastily leaving the white woman in the
desert. She had given back the money--all she had that was valuable!
Beside the dollar rippled a little chain of beads curiously wrought, an
inanimate appeal for forgiveness and a grateful return for the kindness
shown her. Margaret smiled as she stooped again to pick up her things.
There had been a heart, after all, behind that stolid countenance, and
some sense of righteousness and justice. Margaret decided that Indians
were not all treacherous. Poor woman! What a life was hers--to follow
her grim lord whither he would lead, even as her white sister must
sometimes, sorrowing, rebelling, crying out, but following! She wondered
if into the heart of this dark sister there ever crept any of the
rebellion which led some of her white sisters to cry aloud for "rights"
and "emancipation."

But it was all a passing thought to be remembered a