The boys laughed at the story, for Woofer, as they began to call him immediately, told it in a most comical manner. They all took to him immensely, and regarded him as quite an acquisition to the camp.

Dinner was announced by McCall, the cook, and Woofer certainly did justice to it, being, as Bud remarked in an aside to Hallie, "holler all the way down to his toes." He confessed that he had had nothing to eat but a little mud, which he had absorbed when he got a drink at a water hole, since the noon of the day before.

Ted had been thinking about the man. It would do no harm to have another puncher in the outfit, and would relieve the night guard, which at times was a little overworked.

"Say, Woofer, you won't take a reward for bringing in our strays, how would you like a job with this outfit?" he said.

"I don't want you to think I'm workin' ther grub line," said the cow-puncher quickly.

When a cow-puncher is said to be working the grub line, he is known as a thriftless cowman who cannot hold a job long anywhere, and who travels from ranch to ranch, staying only long enough at each to get fed up, then passing on with a few dollars in his pocket, to repeat the operation elsewhere.

"Certainly not," answered Ted. "If I believed that I wouldn't offer you the job."

"All right," said Woofer. "This outfit looks good to me, an' I'll jine, an' go ter work instanter."

"You're on the pay roll, then."

Woofer proved quickly that he knew the business thoroughly, and when, the next morning, the herd got under way, he took the left point, with Bud on the right, and headed the herd into the north.

For several days life on the trail was monotonous. Whenever Ted could be spared from the herd he and Stella and Hallie Croffut, and sometimes Ben or Kit, took long rides off the trail with their rifles, after a pronghorn or black-tail deer, and frequently they had venison for supper.

The life was most fascinating to Hallie, who enjoyed every minute of it, and had seemingly forgotten the unpleasant features of her start with the party.

Singing Bird rode in the wagon, with Mrs. Graham, waiting on that lady in the capacity of maid. Stella had undertaken to teach her the duty of maid, and the girl soon did for Mrs. Graham what had taken a great deal of Stella's time.

The Indian girl was devoted to Stella, and whenever she was near, followed the pretty white girl with eyes in which shone devotion and affection.

She had made herself so useful, and was so self-effacing that every one wondered how they had ever been able to get along without her.

Stella had conceived a real affection for her, she was so gentle and sweet of manner.

They had long talks together in the evenings, sitting away from the fire, the Indian girl telling her white friend all about the life led by the Indians, their wrongs at the hands of the white men, their religious beliefs, their songs, and their folklore.

And, more important than all, she taught Stella the language of the Blackfeet and the Sioux. Stella was a good scholar, and it was surprising how rapidly she picked up the Indian tongues. Later she was to feel gratitude to the Indian girl for this knowledge.

For several days Stella had noticed that Singing Bird was uneasy and apparently unhappy, and it worried her.

She spoke to Ted about it, and he was of the opinion that the Indian girl was getting homesick, that her wild nature was asserting itself, and that she was experiencing a longing to be among her own people again, and free from the conventions of civilized life.

Stella did not think so, and determined to speak to Singing Bird about it at the first good opportunity.

One day the chance came as they were walking together in a wood near which they had camped.

"What is the matter with you, sister?" asked Stella kindly. "Is it that you are not satisfied with our ways, and that you want to leave us?"

Singing Bird looked at her with troubled eyes, in which the tears soon began to well up.

"My sister knows that I love her," she said, "and that I would not leave her unless she wishes me to."

She looked at Stella inquiringly.

"No, I want you to stay. But if you are troubled, you must tell me as one sister would tell another."

"I will tell you," said the Indian girl simply, "and I would have told you long ago, only that I did not want to trouble you, nor make trouble for any one else in the camp."

"What do you mean by making trouble for any one else in the camp?"

"I mean that the new man who drives the cows is a bad man. Beware of him."

"You mean the man called Woofer?"

"Yes, it is he whom I mean. He is the traitor, and he doesn't like the master, Ted Strong."

"How do you know that?"

"From what he has said to me. He is the bad man."

"But tell me all about it. I didn't know that he had talked to you, even. Why did you not tell me this before?"

"The white man threatened to kill me if I told."

"Now you must tell me all."

"We will sit down here, for there is much to tell."

Singing Bird took a seat upon a fallen tree, and Stella sat down beside her.

"Proceed," said Stella, "and leave nothing out."

"When he first came to the camp, I wished he would not stay," began Singing Bird, "but every one seemed to think he was the good man, and who am I to say anything against the wishes of my friends who saved my life and made me a home?"

"Did you know him then?"

"Yes. I have seen him at the white soldiers' fort. He is the friend of Running Bear. He is a bad man, who steals other men's cattle."

"But he brought ours back to us."

"That was a trick to get into your camp. He is as cunning as a bad Indian. One day he came to me when no one was about, and told me that he had seen my husband, Running Bear, and that I must go back to him. I was frightened, but told him I would not do so. Then he begged me to tell him the secret I have. I told him I could not do it."

"You have never told me that secret."

"But I will. Always I have intended to do so."

"When you are ready. But go on."

"Then he told me that if I would tell him the secret he would marry me himself." The Indian girl flushed. "You know, sister, that it is a great thing for an Indian girl to marry a white man."

"But you are already the wife of Running Bear," said Stella, who was puzzled.

"That is the Indian marriage, and soon broken. But when I told him I didn't want to marry him, he got very angry. I told him I was going to stay with you, and he said that if I did I would be killed with all the rest of you; that it was coming, and that Mr. Strong had many enemies who were stronger than all of you."

"Did he hint when this was going to take place?"

"Yes, when we get to the Far North."

"Did he say anything else?"

"He told me that if I didn't go with him to-night he would kill me when I slept."

"We shall see about that," said Stella spiritedly. "But why is all this fuss being made about you and your secret? It must be something very important."

"Yes, to the white man, but not to the Indian."

"Then why did Running Bear shoot you because you would not tell him?"

"He wanted to sell the secret to a white man for whisky."

"Who is the white man? Do you know?"

"Yes. But I do not like to tell."

"You have told me so much, you must tell me the rest."

"The white man is a soldier at the fort."

"A common soldier?"

"No, a chief, who carries a sword."

"Oh, an officer. What is his name?"

"He is called Barrows."

"Oh! And he offered Running Bear whisky for your secret? That is bad."

"Yes. Chief Barrows wants the secret, and he has sent the man who drives cows here to make me tell it."

"Singing Bird, you must tell me the secret."

"I will."

Stella settled herself to hear the Indian girl's story.

"It began when I was a little child," said Singing Bird. "One time when my father's tribe was hunting, we came to a place where a lot of white men were digging in the sands of the big, muddy river."

"Was that the Missouri?"

"The white men call it so. We camped beside them, and one day I saw them washing out of the sand little grains of yellow metal, which they thought much of, although the Indians would rather have iron, the black metal."

"They were hunting for gold."

"Yes. In their talk with my father they said that somewhere up the river was the mother of the gold, where all this came from. They asked my father if he knew where it was.

"Now, my father had found where there was plenty of the yellow metal. But he, too, was shrewd, and, seeing that the white men prized it so highly, he thought he would go back and get the gold, and sell it to the white men for iron and shot and powder and blankets.

"The white men guessed that he knew where the mother of gold was, and asked him. But he refused to tell them, and went away.

"The white men followed us for days. One evening I was with my mother, and heard my father tell her where the yellow metal was on the opposite side of the river, pointing to a great sycamore tree that grew on the river bank. 'Beneath that tree lies much of the yellow metal,' he said to her, and I saw the tree, and knew what he said was true.

"That night the white men came to our camp and had a long talk with my father, trying to make him tell where the mother gold was, and, when he would not, suddenly they fell upon the camp, and, after killing some of the young men, drove my father and the others away. At the first shot my mother ran away into the woods with me."

"That was horrible," interjected Stella.

"As my mother ran, she was shot in the back, but she kept on running until she was out of sight before she fell.

"Then the white men went away, and I lay there with my mother until she breathed no more and was cold.

"I cried for a long time because it was dark and cold, and I could hear the wild animals in the woods all about me.

"This frightened me, and I began to call 'Ai-i-e!' which is the Indian way of lamentation, and I cried louder all the time to keep the wild animals from me."

"And did no one hear you?"

"Yes. In the night I heard a noise in the wood, and it was the noise of a man walking, an Indian man, for it was soft, made by moccasins. Then I cried louder, and soon my father came and picked both me and my mother up in his arms and carried us away into the woods, where he buried my mother, and went away into the North again.

"But as I grew up, I thought often about the mother gold and the place where it was hidden by the Great Spirit, for so I had heard my father say. Once when I spoke of it to my father he told me never to speak of it to him again, for it was cursed, having taken away from him his son, who was killed by the white men, and my mother.

"So never did I talk of it. But when Running Bear heard of it from some of the old men who had been with my father, and heard that I was the only one of all the tribe who knew where it was, he began to court me, and then bought me of my father for twenty ponies.

"We had not been married long when he asked me to take him to the place of gold, but my father told me not to do so, and I did not. Then he began to beat me, and tried to kill me, but the secret is still mine.

"In time others heard that I possessed the great secret of the hiding place of the mother gold, for when Running Bear was drunk he would boast that his squaw was the richest woman in the world, because of her secret, and many men have tried to get it from me. Then the army chief, who carries the sword, got hungry for the gold, and gave Running Bear plenty of whisky to make me tell where it was, and now he has sent Woofer to make me tell, or to kill me."

"Will you tell Ted Strong where the mother gold is hidden?" asked Stella.

"I will, if you wish me to. But it is accursed."

"Nonsense. That is only a superstition. Now that you have told me, all will be well. Be careful, and do not let Woofer see you alone, and if he lays his hand on you, scream for me. We will now go back to the camp."

As the two girls walked away with their arms around one another's waists, a tall, gaunt man rose from behind a dead tree not far away, and over his face spread a shrewd smile.

It was Woofer.