violent gesticulations were enacted, when the child made a sudden evolution in my direction, and with one hard finger rubbed the back of my hand, until I thought myself quite a Spartan; then looking at her own finger, doubtfully at first, she ran back, and went from one to another, showing her finger.  The design was evident.  Indians (the women, at least) have some curiosity;—­they thought me painted white.  I forgave them.

We went five hundred miles from this lodge into the wilderness,—­two of the squaws accompanying us, for my comfort.

At last came the sight of buffaloes, feeding on the short tufts of grass on the Grand Prairie.  My heart grew sick with the shout that rang from a hundred Indian throats, and—­must I write it?—­from Saul’s.

“Stay!” said Saul, and he left me a guard, and was away without one word of farewell.

Night came down, and he was not returned.  The stars shone out of the vault like “red-hot diamonds,” and on the sight no vision, to the ear no sound.

The women pitched my tent.  The guard lit the fire.  They brought me savory bits of food, and coffee.  My throat was tightened, I could not eat, and I arose and went out into the night alone.  I lost all sense of fear, as I wandered away.  The prairie had just been burned, and I knew must be free from serpents and other reptiles:  beyond these I had no thought.  I turned once to see the little dot of fire-light, to see the one point of canvas, my shelter and my home.  At last I grew very weary, and remember having lain down, and having thought that the stars were raining down upon me, so near did they seem,—­and one after one, constellation mingled with constellation, until I fancied a storm of stars was circling over my head.

I started with a sudden spasm, as a sound burst upon me, wild, ringing, dreadful.  A hundred Indians were uttering a war-cry, and, as I lay there, with my head pressed to the burnt sod, I felt the shudder of earth from many hoofs.  I turned in the direction whence they were coming;—­raise my head from the ground I dared not.  All was darkness.  Could I possibly escape?  Not if I moved.  Where I was, there might be a chance that they would pass to the right or the left.  On, on they came, and I knew the cry,—­it was for vengeance.  Feebly, like a setting star, gleamed the watch-fire of my guard in the distance.  Suddenly it went down.  They had heard the alarm.  How awfully my heart kept time to the nearing echo of the many footfalls!  My eyes must have been fastened on the West.  I saw dark heads rise first above the earth-line, then the moving arms of the horsemen.  I heard the ring of weapons, and saw them coming directly over the place where I lay; but I did not stir,—­it was as if I had been bound with an equator to the ground.  Something struck my arm and was gone.  The troop passed by.

It was morning.  A low, deep breathing betokened something near me.  I opened my eyes, and saw the face of my husband,—­but, oh, how changed!  I heard him say, “The Lord hear my vow, and record my prayer!”