She paused in her singing and looked out of the door.
"There's one honest woman alive," she remarked to herself.

"Thank Heaven, _I_ never yet feared the face of clay!" A tall, dark form met her eye--a great shadow in the scintillant sunlight.
It was an aged Indian, walking with a staff.

He was coming toward the cabin.
"Umatilla!" she said.

"What can he want of me ?" The old chief approached, and bowed and sat down on a log that answered for a door-step.
"I walk with a staff now," he said.

"My bow has drifted away on the tide of years--it will never come back again.