Now, my dear, you hurry and get the horses." "But what shall we do with Moira ?" said Cameron suddenly.
"Why," cried Moira, "let me go with you.

I should love to go." But this did not meet with Cameron's approval.
"I can stay here," suggested Smith hesitatingly, "or Miss Cameron can go over with me to the Thatchers'." "That is better," said Cameron shortly.

"We can drop her at the Thatchers' as we pass." In half an hour Cameron returned with the horses and the party proceeded on their way.
At the Piegan Reserve they were met by Chief Trotting Wolf himself and, without more than a single word of greeting, were led to the tent in which the sick boy lay.

Beside him sat the old squaw in a corner of the tent, crooning a weird song as she swayed to and fro.

The sick boy lay on a couch of skins, his eyes shining with fever, his foot festering and in a state of indescribable filth and his whole condition one of unspeakable wretchedness.