Steve Harrison found his position a little awkward during the time spent by Murray with Rita in the lodge. The chiefs had too much dignity to seem to consult with so young a brave especially as he had not even one of the talking leaves to listen to. He knew that not only Dolores and Ni-ha-be, but half a dozen other squaws, old and young, were staring at him, and he could not understand a word of the low-voiced remarks they made. He was very glad, therefore, when his friend once more appeared, and he saw by the light on his face that he had no unpleasant news to bring.

"What find?" asked Many Bears. "Send Warning and Rita hear something?"

"Hear a little. Send Warning will take the leaves to his own lodge and hear more."

"What say now? Hear about big talk with blue-coat pale-faces?"

"Tell you what I think."

"The chief is listening."

"Break up village. Move west right away. More news come soon. Hear about treaty when you see the lodges of your own people. No time to lose."

That advice agreed so exactly with the notions of Many Bears that he was ready to accept it at once. He turned to his two councillors triumphantly.

"What did I tell you? It is wisdom. We will go. Tell the braves to get ready. Tell all the squaws to pack up. Send on hunting braves. Good many. Kill plenty meat."

There was no opposition. The only objection that could reasonably be raised was that so sudden a departure gave no opportunity for a grand celebration of their victory over the Lipans. They could attend to that some other time, and there was no doubt but what all the whooping and boasting in the band would keep safely till it should be called for.

"Come, Steve," said Murray. "We want an hour by ourselves."

They were quickly inside their own lodge, and were sure there were no listeners.

"Steve!"

"What is it, Murray?"

"That little girl is my own daughter!"

"I've suspected it. And this was the very band of Apaches that broke up your home and your mine."

"Yes, and it is a wonder they have not recognized me. If Apaches of some other band were to join them, some of them might remember me. They have seen me in more than one of their fights with the Lipans."

"It would be all over with us then."

"Of course it would. I am dressed differently, to be sure. I can change a little more. Must crop my hair and beard closer. They know me for a long-bearded old man. I must turn myself into a short-haired young one."

"Can't you dye your hair?"

"Not till we get to the settlements. There are no barbers among the Apaches."

"How will we ever get her away, Murray?"

"Oh, my girl! My poor, dear little girl! I dare not think about my wife. No wonder my hair is white. Steve, I must not let her live and die among these wild people. They have been kind to her, she says; and I do not hate them so much now I know that, but she shall not be an Indian."

He was getting feverishly excited, and Steve replied,

"Now, Murray, of course we will get her away. Haven't you some plan?"

"Only to draw the whole band nearer the frontier, or nearer to some fort or other."

"That's good. We should have a shorter distance to run, if we should escape."

"Now, Steve, I'm all upset and unstrung. That's the reason I came in here. I've got to get my wits about me again, or I can't plan anything."

"Sit down and read."

"Read? Do you suppose I could do that just now? Why, Steve, I've found my little daughter!"

"So you have. I don't wonder you're excited. I am myself. Here, give me a magazine. I'd like to find out how much of my reading will come back."

Murray handed him one, and Steve sat down. He had been fond of books in the days before he was captured by the Lipans. He had not forgotten his reading at all, and it came back to him in a way that made his heart jump. But that was after he had made a great effort, and driven away the faces of Rita and Ni-ha-be.

Both of them would somehow come between his eyes and the paper of those printed pages at first. Both of them were such nice, pretty, well-behaved girls, and yet one of them was white, the daughter of his friend Murray, and the other was only a poor little squaw of the Apaches.

How the black eyes of Ni-ha-be would have snapped if she could have read the thoughts of Knotted Cord at that moment! She would never again have regarded him as a handsome young brave, almost good enough to be an Apache.

Murray, too, picked up a magazine and sat down.

"It will do for a sort of medicine," he muttered. "I may learn something from it, too. The world has changed a great deal since I have had newspapers or magazines to read. There may be some new nations in it, for all I know, and there surely must be a new lot of kings and queens and presidents, and all that sort of thing."

It was that thought which made him turn over a little carelessly all the illustrated articles and the stories, till he came to the "news of the month" among the leaves at the end.

There he began actually to read, and read closely, for it was all very new to him, although it was several months since it had been printed there.

There was a great deal of it, for the editor had condensed everything into the fewest words possible, and more than once Murray's eyes opened wider or his mouth puckered up as if for a whistle. The world had been moving fast while he had been among the Lipans.

"And Rita," he muttered, "she knows nothing at all about any of it. I don't know that I am sorry. She will have all the pleasure of learning all she needs to kno............