It is safe here." I drew myself to my elbow, struck fire and blew the tinder to a glow.
"This is yours," he said.

And laid in my hand a tiny, lacquered folder striped with the pattern of a Scotch tartan.
Wondering, I opened it.

Within was a bit of wool in which still remained three rusted needles.

And across the inside cover was written in faded ink: "Marie Loskiel." "How came you by this ?" I stammered, the quick tears blinding me.
"I took it from the St.Regis hunter whom Tahoontowhee slew." "Was he my mother's murderer!" "Who knows ?" said the Sagamore softly.

"Yet, this needle-book is a poor thing for an Indian to treasure--and carry in a pouch around his neck for twenty years." The glow-worm spark in my tinder grew dull and went out.