long, jetty hair was as thick and coarse, and her skin was
every shade as dark as were those of any Apache house-keeper among the
scattered lodges of that hunting-party.

She was not the mother of Ni-ha-be. She had not a drop of Apache blood
in her veins, although she was one of the half-dozen squaws of Many
Bears. Mother Dolores was a pure "Mexican," and therefore as much of
an Indian, really, as any Apache, or Lipan, or Comanche. Only a
different kind of an Indian, that was all.

Her greeting to her two young charges, for such they were, was somewhat
gruff and brief, and there was nothing very respectful in the manner of
their reply. An elderly squaw, even though the wife of a chief, is
never considered as anything better than a sort of servant, to be
valued according to the kind and quantity of the work she can do.
Dolores could do a great deal, and was therefore more than usually
respectable; and she had quite enough force of will to preserve her
authority over two such half-wild creatures as Ni-ha-be and Rita.

"You are late. Come in! Tell me what it is!"

Rita was as eager now as Ni-ha-be had been with her father and Red
Wolf; but even while she was talking Dolores pulled them both into the
lodge.

"Talking leaves!"

Not Many Bears himself could have treated those poor magazines with
greater contempt than did the portly dame from Mexico. To be sure, it
was many a long year since she had been taken a prisoner and brought
across the Mexican border, and reading had not been among the things
she had learned before coming.

"Rita can tell us all they say, by-and-by, Mother Dolores."

"Let her, then. Ugh!"

She turned page after page, in a doubtful way, as if it were quite
possible one of them might bite her, but suddenly her whole manner
changed.

"Ugh!"

"Rita," exclaimed Ni-ha-be, "the leaves have spoken to her."

She had certainly kissed one of them. Then she made a quick motion
with one hand across her brow and breast.

"Give it to me, Rita! You must give it to me!"

Rita held out her hand for the book, and both the girls leaned forward
with open mouths to learn what could have so disturbed the mind of
Dolores.

It was a picture.

A sort of richly carved and ornamented door-way, but with no house
behind it, and in it a lady with a baby in her arms, and over it a
great cross of stone.

"Yes, Dolores," said Rita, "we will give you that leaf."

It was quickly cut out, and the two gir