swered William Rufus Holly, smiling, yet with a fluttering heart, for
the first test of his life had come.

In anger Knife-in-the-Wind thrust an arrow into the ground and said:

"How can the white man who died thousands of moons ago in a far country
save the red man to-day?"

"A strong man should bear so weak a tale," broke in Silver Tassel
ruthlessly. "Are we children that the Great Chief sends a child as
messenger?"

For a moment Billy Rufus did not know how to reply, and in the pause
Knife-in-the-Wind broke in two pieces the arrow he had thrust in the
ground in token of displeasure.

Suddenly, as Oshondonto was about to speak, Silver Tassel sprang to
his feet, seized in his arms a lad of twelve who was standing near, and
running to the bank, dropped him into the swift current.

"If Oshondonto be not a child, let him save the lad," said Silver
Tassel, standing on the brink.

Instantly William Rufus Holly was on his feet. His coat was off before
Silver Tassel's words were out of his mouth, and crying, "In the name of
the Great White Chief!" he jumped into the rushing current. "In the name
of your Manitou, come on, Silver Tassel!" he called up from the water,
and struck out for the lad.

Not pausing an instant, Silver Tassel sprang into the flood, into the
whirling eddies and dangerous current below the first rapids and above
the second.

Then came the struggle for Wingo of the Cree tribe, a waif among
the Athabascas, whose father had been slain as they travelled, by a
wandering tribe of Blackfeet. Never was there a braver rivalry, although
the odds were with the Indian-in lightness, in brutal strength. With
the mikonaree, however, were skill, and that sort of strength which
the world calls "moral," the strength of a good and desperate purpose.
Oshondonto knew that on the issue of this shameless business--this cruel
sport of Silver Tassel--would depend his future on the Peace River. As
he shot forward with strong strokes in the whirling torrent after the
helpless lad, who, only able to keep himself afloat, was being swept
down towards the rapids below, he glanced up to the bank along which the
Athabascas were running. He saw the garish colours of their dresses;
he saw the ignorant medicine man, with his mysterious bag, making
incantations; he saw the tepee of the chief, with its barbarous pennant
above; he saw the idle, naked children tearing at the entrails of
a calf; and he realised that this was a deadly t