that some of those pictures also seemed to her to have a familiar look.

"Did I ever see anything like that?" she murmured to herself. "The
great chief says he did. It is not a lie. Maybe it will come back to
me some day. I don't care for any more pictures now; I'll try and read
some words."

That was harder work; but there were strange, new thoughts beginning to
come to Rita.

"You have not spoken to me," said Dolores at last. "Do the leaves talk
all the while?"

"Look at these," said Ni-ha-be. "They are better than the one you cut
out. There's only one squaw in that, and a pappoose. Here are ever so
many. And look at the funny little children. How those things must
hurt them! The pale-faces are cruel to their families."

Dolores look earnestly enough at the fashion plates. With all her
ignorance she had seen enough in her day to understand more of them
than the girls could. Once, long ago, when the band of Many Bears had
been near one of the frontier "military posts," where United States
troops were encamped, she had seen the beautiful "white squaws" of the
officers, in their wonderful dresses and ornaments, and she knew that
some of these were much like them. She could even help Ni-ha-be to
understand it.

Rita had been silent a very long time. All the while the train had
travelled nearly five miles. Now she suddenly exclaimed, "Oh,
Ni-ha-be! Dolores!" And when they turned to look at her her face was
perfectly radiant with triumph and pleasure.

"What is it? Have you found either of them?"

"I can do it! I have done it!"

"What have you done?"

"It is a story talk. Big lie about it all, such as the Apache braves
tell at the camp-fire when they are too lazy to hunt. I have read it
all."

"Is it a good talk?"

"Let me tell it. I can say it all in Apache words."

That was not the easiest thing in the world to do. It would have been
impossible, if the short story which Rita had found had not been of the
simplest kind--only about hunters following chamois in the Alps and
tumbling into snow-drifts, and being found and helped by great, wise,
benevolent St. Bernard dogs.

There were mountains in sight of the girls now that helped make it
real, and among them were big-horn antelopes as wild as the chamois,
and with very much the same habits. There were snow-drifts up there,
too, for they could see the white peaks glisten in the sinking sun. It
was all better than the talk of the