I made a note of each day, so as to know the time when I might expect him back.
[Illustration: SAVED BY CHIEF RAIN-IN-THE-FACE.] On the twelfth day after Harrington left me, I was awakened from a sound sleep by some one touching me upon the shoulder.

I looked up and was astonished to see an Indian warrior standing at my side.

His face was hideously daubed with paint, which told me more forcibly than words could have done that he was on the war-path.

He spoke to me in broken English and Sioux mixed, and I understood him to ask what I was doing there, and how many there were with me.
By this time the little dug-out was nearly filled with other Indians, who had been peeping in at the door, and I could hear voices of still more outside as well as the stamping of horses.

I began to think that my time had come, as the saying is, when into the cabin stepped an elderly Indian, whom I readily recognized as old Rain-in-the-Face, a Sioux chief from the vicinity of Fort Laramie.