The Power of Sleep—Plans discussed and a Far Journey resolved on.  
It was broad daylight when we once again drew rein, and then we were all so overcome with sleep and exhaustion, after the prolonged watching and excitement of the night, that we could scarcely sit on our horses.
 
Eve, who sat behind me, grasping my waist with both arms, swayed so heavily once or twice, as nearly to throw me down.
 
“We must stop,” said I to Big Otter, who was close beside me.
 
“Yes,” replied the Indian; but his tone told that he was barely awake.
 
“If you doosn’t me drop,” said Salamander. The worthy interpreter seemed to think English the easiest language in the circumstances.
 
“Oh! I’m so sleepy,” said poor Eve, whose grief helped to increase her exhaustion.
 
“Come, we will camp in this thicket!” said Big Otter, turning his horse in the direction of a long strip of bush that lay a few hundred yards to our right.
 
On reaching it, we penetrated, almost mechanically, to the thickest part of it, dismounted, and fastened our horses to the trees. Turning instantly, to assist Eve in making a couch of leaves, I found that she had lain down where she had dismounted, and was already fast asleep.
 
“Here, Salamander, lend a hand to lift her,” I said, looking round; but Salamander was also in the land of Nod, flat on his back, with his eyes shut, and his mouth open.
 
Turning to Big Otter, I found that he was standing staring at me with an expression of such awful solemnity that I was partially roused with a feeling of alarm.
 
“Hallo!” I exclaimed, “what has happened?—speak, man!”
 
But Big Otter only gazed more intensely than ever, swayed slightly to and fro, and gave a sort of wink, or rather a slap together of both eyes. Then I understood that the wretched man was only glaring like an owl in the sunshine, in his tremendous efforts to keep awake. He assisted me, however, to lift Eve to a more comfortable position, and while he was in the act of laying her fair head gently on a pillow of moss, I observed that he sank down and instantly fell into a profound slumber; but even in that hour of mingled danger and exhaustion, the Indian did not neglect to hold his gun to his breast with a firm grasp. I also had enough wit left to keep my double-barrel in my hand, and was in the act of examining the locks, seated at Eve’s feet, where my own senses forsook me.
 
We lay there, perfectly silent and motionless, during the whole of that day, for it was not until the sun was descending towards the western horizon that we awoke. I happened to be the first to move. Rising softly, so as not to disturb the others, I went to search for water, and was fortunate enough to find a small pool, which, though not very clear, was nevertheless sufficiently good to slake our thirst. Sitting down beside the pool, I lifted my heart and voice in thanksgiving to God for having thus far delivered and guided us.
 
While thus engaged a slight rustling in the bushes caused me to spring up. It was caused by Big Otter, who had followed me.
 
“What does the pale-face think?” he asked, sitting down beside me.
 
“He thinks that the Great Master of Life has delivered us from our enemies. He is good,” said I, being still influenced by the devotional feeling which had been broken in upon.
 
For a few moments the Indian did not reply, but continued to look thoughtfully at the ground. At length he spoke.
 
“Was the Great Master of Life good when He let Waboose’s mother die in the midst of war and weakness? Was He good to Waboose when He left her fatherless and motherless?”
 
“Yes, He was good,” I answered, confidently. “He took the mother of Waboose home to dwell with Himself and with her father Weeum. And men and women, you know, cannot be taken to the happy land without leaving their children behind them—fatherless and motherless.”
 
Big Otter did not reply, but I saw by his grave look that he was not satisfied. After a brief pause he resumed,—“Was the Great Master of Life good to the wicked pale-faces, when He allowed the red-men to slay them in their sins?”
 
“Yes,” I returned, “He was good, because the Great Master of Life cannot be otherwise than good. He has made our brains capable of understanding that, and our hearts capable of resting on it. But He is our Father. Children do not understand all that a father does. Big Otter has touched on a great mystery. But what we know not now we shall know hereafter. Only let the red-man be sure of this, that whatever we come to know in the hereafter will tend more and more to prove that the Great Master of Life is good.”
 
For a long time the Indian remained silent, and I could not tell by the expression of his grave face whether my reasoning weighed with him or not; I therefore offered up a brief prayer that the Spirit of God might open his eyes—as well as my own—to see, and our hearts to receive, the truth, whatever that might be. Then I said,—“The thoughts of Big Otter are deep, what do they lead to?”
 
“No,” he replied, “his thoughts are not deep, but they are confused, for he has heard his pale-face brother call Waboose, Eve. How did he come to know that name? It was only used by Weeum, and seldom by him—never by any one else.”
 
It struck me that now was as suitable a time as might present itself to let the Indian know about the contents of the packet, so I said,—“Listen, Big Otter, I have something important to tell.”
 
From this point I went on, and, in as few words as possible, related all that the reader knows about the packet, and the wishes of poor William Liston. I also showed him the miniature, at which he gazed with visible but suppressed emotion.
 
“Now,” said I, in conclusion, “what do you think we should do?”
 
“What Weeum wished must be done,” he replied simply but firmly.
 
“You were fond of Weeum?” I said.
 
“Yes, Big Otter loved him like a brother.”
 
“Don’t you think,” said I, after some minutes’ thought, “that it is our duty first to return to the camp of your tribe, and also that I should send Salamander back to Fort Wichikagan to tell where I have gone, and for what purpose? For Salamander is not free like myself. He is still a servant of the fur-traders.”
 
“No, that is not your duty,” said the Indian decidedly. “Your duty is to obey the commands of Weeum! My tribe will not die of grief because Waboose does not return. As for Salamander—send him where you please. He is nobody—nothing!”
 
Although not quite agreeing with Big Otter in his contemptuous estimate of the value of Salamander, I believed that I could get along quite well without him; and therefore resolved to send him back—first to the Indian camp to tell of our safety and intentions, and then to the fort with an explanatory letter to Lumley, who, I knew full well, would be filled with great anxiety on my account, as well as with uncertainty as to how he should act, destitute as he was of the slightest clue to my fate or my whereabouts.
 
“And you, my friend,” I said, “what will your movements be?”
 
“Big Otter will go and help you to obey the commands of Weeum,” he replied. “There is no wife, no child, waiting for him to return. He must be a father to Waboose. Muxbee will be her brother. The trail to Colorado is long. Big Otter has been there. He has been a solitary wanderer all his life, and knows the wilderness well. He has crossed the great mountains where the snow lies deep even in summer. He can be a guide, and knows many of the mountain tribes as well as the tribes of the prairie—Waugh!”
 
“Well, my friend,” said I, grasping the Indian’s strong hand, “I need not tell you that your decision gives me joy, and I shall be only too glad to travel with you in the capacity of a son; for, you know, if you are to be a father to Waboose, and I am to be her brother, that makes you my father—don’t you see?”
 
The grave Indian smiled faintly at this touch of pleasantry, and then rose.
 
“We have nothing to eat,” he said, as we returned to the place where we had slept, “and we cannot hunt in the night. Is your bag empty?”
 
“No,” said I, glancing at the contents of my wallet, “there is enough of biscuit and pemmican to give us a light meal.”
 
“That will do,” he returned; “we need rest more than food just now.”
 
This was indeed true; for, notwithstanding that I had slept so soundly during that day, I still felt a strong disinclination to rouse myself to action, and an intense desire to lie down again. These feelings being shared by my companions, it was resolved to spend the night where we were, but we took good care to kindle no fire to betray us a second time. We roused Eve and Salamander to take some food, after which we all lay down, and, ere long, were again sound asleep.
 
This double allowance of rest had the most beneficial effect upon our frames. We did not awake till an early hour the following morning, and felt so much refreshed as to be ready and anxious to set off on our journey, without the delay of breakfasting. This was fortunate, for the scraps that remained in my wallet would only have sufficed for one meal to a man of ordinary appetit............