Passing from the shadow of the wood into the Clearing, the missionary recognized one of the worst women of the tribe.  She had scoffed at his preaching, had openly insulted him, and during the first month or two had manifested a disposition approaching violence.  To this Richter only answered by kindness; he used every means to conciliate her good-will, but thus far with indifferent success.  Her husband, The-au-o-too, a warrior favorably inclined toward the white man, was thoughtful and attentive; and the good minister wondered that the savage did not restrain these unwomanly demonstrations upon his squaw’s part.

She approached with rapid step, until she stood directly in front of them.  Harvey saw that her countenance was agitated.

“Well, At-to-uck,” said he, kindly, “you seem troubled.  Is there anything I can do for you?”

[Illustration:  “Well, At-to-uck,” said he, kindly, “you seem troubled.”]

“Me ain’t trouble,” she answered, using English as well as her very imperfect knowledge would admit.  “Me ain’t trouble—­me ain’t.”

“Who may it be then?”

“The-au-o-too—­he much trouble.  Sick—­in woods—­die—­berry sick.”

“What do you mean, At-to-uck?” asked the missionary, his interest strongly awakened.  “Has anything befallen your husband?”

“He fall,” she answered, eagerly, catching at the helping word, “he fall—­much hurt—­die—­die—­won’t got well.”

“Where is he?”

She spun around on one foot, and pointed deeper into the woods.  “He dere—­lay on back—­soon die.”

“And he wishes me to see him; is that it?”

She nodded her head vigorously, but made no answer for a moment.  Then she suddenly broke forth: 

“Send At-to-uck to git good man—­hurry—­berry hurry—­he die—­won’t live.  The-au-o-too say hurry—­die soon—­won’t see good man—­Riher.”

Harvey looked at his wife.  “What must I do, Cora?  It will not do to leave you, as Teddy may not return for several hours, and yet this poor Indian should be attended in his dying moments.”

“You should go, Harvey; I will not fear.”

He turned to the squaw in perplexity.

“How far away is The-au-o-too?”

“Not much far—­soon find—­most dead.”

“It may be,” he said in a low tone, “that he can be got to the house, although it would be no easy matter for us two to bring him.”

“I think your duty calls you to the dying man.”

“I ought to be there, but I tell you, Cora, I don’t like this leaving you alone,” said he, impressively.  “You know we made up our minds that it should never occur again.”

“There must be occasions when it cannot be avoided, and this is one of them.  By refusing to attend this man, you may not only neglect a great duty, but incur the ill-will of the whole tribe.  You know the disposition of this woman.”

The latter, at this point, began to give evidence of agitation, and to remark in her broken accents that The-au-o-too was dying and would be dead before they could reach him.  The missionary, in sore perplexity, looked at his wife.