e to that.

"We have the dog," said I at length. "We can carry a robe and a little
meat, and walk slowly. I can carry a hundred pound pack if need be, and
the dog can take twenty-five--"

"And I can carry something," she said, rising with her old courage. "It
is my part." I made her a pack of ten pounds, and soon seeing that it
was too heavy, I took it from her and threw it on my own.

"At least I shall carry the belt," she said. And so she took my belt,
with its flask and bullet pouch, the latter now all too scantily filled.

Thus, sore at heart, and somewhat weary, we struggled on through that
afternoon, and sank down beside a little water hole. And that night,
when I reached to her for my belt that we might again make our fire, she
went pale and cried aloud that she had lost it, and that now indeed we
must die!

I could hardly comfort her by telling her that on the morrow I would
certainly find it. I knew that in case I did not our plight indeed was
serious. She wept that night, wept like a child, starting and moaning
often in her sleep. That night, for the first time, I took her in my
arms and tried to comfort her. I, being now a savage, prayed to the
Great Spirit, the Mystery, that my own blood might not be as water, that
my heart might be strong--the old savage prayers of primitive man
brought face to face with nature.

When morning came I told her I must go back on the trail. "See, now,
what this dog has done for us," I said. "The scratches on the ground of
his little travois poles will make a trail easy to be followed. I must
take him with me and run back the trail. For you, stay here by the water
and no matter what your fears, do not move from here in any case, even
if I should not be back by night."

"But what if you should not come back!" she said, her terror showing in
her eyes.

"But I will come back," I replied. "I will never leave you. I would rise
from my grave to come back to you. But the time has not yet come to lie
down and die. Be strong. We shall yet be safe."

So I was obliged to turn and leave her sitting alone there, the gray
sweep of the merciless Plains all about her. Another woman would have
gone mad.

But it was as I said. This dog was our savior. Without his nose I could
not have traced out the little travois trail; but he, seeing what was
needed, and finding me nosing along and doubling back and seeking on the
hard ground, seemed to know what was required, or perhaps himself
th