e for a long journey.

"You must go," he said in the native tongue, "swift as the wind,
straight as the wild goose, and carry this to Amos."

As he spoke he took from his neck four strings of beads fastened
securely together, and handed them to the maiden.

"Guard them well," he commanded, "and come back soon."

Jennie's eyes sparkled with delight as she seized the necklace in her
hand. Never before had she seen the old man part with his treasure.
It was the symbol of his office as chief of his tribe, and well did
Jennie know the meaning when it was entrusted to any one else. She had
heard of it being done once before. Long years ago, so it was said
around the camp fire, had the chief sent the beads by a trusty courier
over leagues and leagues of mountain, forest and plain to summon the
natives to hurl back a marauding band of Indians.

With the beads about her neck, and a small blanket and some food on her
back, Jennie bade the chief good-bye, and sped away from the lodge out
upon the long trail. All day long she fought her way through the
blinding storm with the unerring instinct of a wild animal. The region
was familiar to her, though every trace of a path had been obliterated.
No living thing met her gaze, as hour after hour she plodded on. When
night shut down she sought shelter in a thicket of fir trees, lighted a
fire, ate her scanty meal, and, wrapping her small blanket around her
body, was soon fast asleep.

Towards morning the wind dropped to rest, the snow ceased falling, and
the bright moon smiled forth from banks of drifting clouds. A shy
rabbit, hopping around in search of a meal from some tender cotton-wood
bark, started back at the sight of the curious bundle lying in the
snow; while some distance off a black fox sniffed the air and turned
warily away.

Early in the morning Jennie was up and on again. On the fourth day,
footsore and weary, she dragged her tired body towards the nearest
camp. The sun had gone down and darkness had spread over the land.
There were only a few Indians here, the rest having gone farther
afield. It was the hour of prayer, and, according to their usual
custom, they were all gathered into the largest camp.

It was a quaint structure, this rude abode, which served as the little
sanctuary in the wild. It had the appearance of a log house cut in
two, and pulled apart, leaving a clear passage of about four feet right
through the building. In this space a glowing