d
steps were needed for every one taken to-day.

In the weeks that followed, O'mie hung between life and death. With all
the care and love given him, his strength wasted away. He had been
cruelly beaten, and cuts and bruises showed how terrible had been his
fight for freedom.

At first he talked deliriously, but in the weakness that followed he lay
motionless hour on hour. And with the fever burning out his candle of
life, we waited the end. How heavy-hearted we were in those days! It
seemed as though all Springvale claimed the orphan boy. And daily,
morning and evening, a messenger from Red Range came for word of him,
bearing always offers of whatever help we would accept from the
kind-hearted neighborhood.

Father Le Claire had come into our home with the bringing of O'mie, and
gentle as a woman's were his ministrations. One evening, when the end of
earthly life seemed near for O'mie, the priest took me by the arm, and
we went down to the "Rockport" point together. The bushes were growing
very rank about my old playground and trysting place. I saw Marjie
daily, for she came and went about our house with quiet usefulness. But
our hands and hearts were full of the day's sad burden, and we hardly
spoke to each other. Marjie's nights were spent mostly with poor Mrs.
Judson, whose grief was wearing deep grooves into the young mother face.

To-night Le Claire and I sat down on the rock and breathed deeply of the
fresh June air. Below us, for many a mile, the Neosho lay like a broad
belt of silver in the deepening shadows of the valley, while all the
West Prairie was aflame with the sunset lights. The world was never more
beautiful, and the spirit of the Plains seemed reaching out glad hands
to us who were so strong and full of life. All day we had watched beside
the Irish boy. His weakened pulse-beat showed how steadily his strength
was ebbing. He had fallen asleep now, and we dared not think what the
waking might be for us.

"Philip, when O'mie is gone, I shall leave Springvale," the priest
began. "I think that Jean Pahusca has at last decided to go to the
Osages. He probably will never be here again. But if he should come--"
Le Claire paused as if the words pained him--"remember you cannot trust
him. I have no tie that binds me to you. I shall go to the West. I feel
sure the Plains Indians need me now more than the Osages and the Kaws."

I listened silently, not caring to question why either O'mie or Jean
should bi