s which please keep if satisfactory.
J. M. B."

When Squaw Charley returned from the shack, he bore an empty basket, and
the following reply:

"Dear Sir--Thank you. We would like to do what you said if
you will please chalk it down. We will pay next summer, and
maybe before. I will keep count too.

"DALLAS LANCASTER."

It was Lounsbury who took possession of the note. He smiled over it, and
put it carefully away in his innermost pocket.

And now there remained one other thing to do. He dropped into the
billiard-room and commenced playing, occasionally going to a window that
commanded the river. When, after a game or two, he saw a man approaching
from Shanty Town, he put up his cue, sauntered opportunely out, and met
the interpreter.

"Well, Matthews," was his greeting.

"Well?"

"I just wanted to be sure that you know Lancaster's got that tenth point
I spoke about cinched."

"Yes?"

"And that what I said before you went away still goes. You hear?"

"I ain't deef," said Matthews, non-committal.

"That's all." And Lounsbury went back to his billiards.

The interpreter continued on to the stockade, where he was more
fortunate in the delivery of the true message he had brought.

"The white women were not at the winter camp," he said, "so they could
not be sent. But your brothers promise to come to save you. Watch for
signals from Medicine Mountain."

CHAPTER XVII

THE AWAKENING

That year, in the northland, winter encroached greedily upon spring. The
latter end of March, the weather did not moderate. Instead, the wide
valley became a channel for winds that were weighted with numbing sleet.
Then, April returned angrily, bringing cold rains and blows to check all
vegetation.

But April half gone, a tardy thaw set in. The icy covering of the river
split into whirling blocks, the snow grew soft and bally, the crust
rotted and picked up. Soon the tempering sun drove the drifts from south
exposures. When a freshet coursed down the coulee, and the low spots on
the prairie filled until they were broad ponds, around which the
migrating wild-fowl alighted with joyous cries. Now eaves dripped
musically; slushy wagon ruts ran like miniature Missouris, and were
travelled by horny frogs; prairie-cocks made each dawning weirdly noisy,
and far and near, where showed the welcome green, blue-eyed anemones
sprang bravely and tossed their fuzzy heads in the sharp air.

Throughout