them,
taught them, advised, converted. What is all my labour worth, Colonel,
if I cannot go among them in times of distress?"

"Worth this," said the colonel, "that you should know when to use your
common sense. I tell you, you will meet with treachery. Friend, or no
friend, this year the Indians are hunting scalps."

"I put my trust in God," murmured David Bond.

"Don't put your trust in redskins," retorted Cummings, crossly.
Whereupon he tramped away.

"Waste of breath--nothing else," he declared to his wife. "I'm clean put
out with the old fellow. He's daft on going. Now, why doesn't he stay
here, instead of sticking his throat to the knife? There's plenty to do.
But, no. Off he must rush on a wild-goose chase. Well, he'll have one,
mark that! He's either ripe for an insane asylum or he's a religious
adventurer--and I'm hanged if I know which!"

It was the bluster that covers an aching wound; that is a vent for
outraged helplessness. And David Bond understood.

When he asked leave to address the stockade, the commanding officer
willingly consented. The attitude of the hostages on that occasion
startled and disturbed the whole post. For the evangelist might as well
have harangued the cottonwood grove across the river. He asked the
braves for messages to their brothers. By way of reply, they got up, one
after the other, from where he had found them, grouped in the sun before
the council-tent, and strolled insolently to their lodges. Soon he was
discoursing to empty space, and to a line of squaws who threw him
malignant glances and jeered at him. He left, surprised, saddened, but
unshaken.

Impudence, bold hatred, and defiance--these were following the smoke
from Medicine Mountain. They formed a cue that pointed to one fact: The
prisoners were disappointed. They had been expecting, not peace and
reservation life, but freedom and battle.

David Bond felt a double need for his quick departure and his services
among the gathering war-bands. He hastened his few remaining tasks and
set the day for the start. Now, the day was come. His farewells had been
said at the shack and at headquarters. Breakfast over and Shadrach put
to the shafts, he would take his way up the river. But first there must
be laid upon Squaw Charley a final and a solemn charge.

The prayer finished, he put out a hand and touched the Indian. Then he
opened his tear-blurred eyes and looked at him, his face softening and
working. The Squaw did no