ready for our march. We have a long journey before us."
"Papooses get cold marching in this foul, east storm," said the squaw.
"Indian has looked at the North, and the Great Spirit tells him the storm will be over by the dawning," was the answer.
The huge man wrapped his blanket closer about him and lay down on a mat in the center of the wigwam. The squaw placed the children near him, and then, with a last look toward Nattie, left quite alone on the pile of skins, dropped down beside her youngest papoose, and sleep soon held all the strange, wild group in its embrace.
Such was Nattie's shelter the first night after her flight, while Mr. and Mrs. Stone watched over the sick mother's couch, wondering where the little girl could be, and fearing that harm might befall her. All their conjectures and imaginings were far from the truth. It never once entered their minds that Nattie had been stolen by
