a refusal to go out with the hunters was a strange thing to come from red wolf. no other young brave in that band of apaches had a better reputation for killing deer and buffaloes. it was a common saying among the older squaws that when he came to have a lodge of his own "there would always be plenty of meat in it."

he was not, therefore, a "lazy indian," and it was something he had on his mind that kept him in the camp that day. it had also made him beckon to ni-ha-be, and look very hard after rita when she hurried away toward the bushes with her three magazines of "talking leaves." red wolf was curious.

he hardly liked to say as much to a squaw, even such a young squaw as ni-ha-be, and his own sister, but he had some questions to ask her, nevertheless.

he might have asked some of them of his father, but the great war-chief of that band of apaches was now busily watching dolores and her saucepan, and everybody knew better than to speak to him just before supper.

ni-ha-be saw at a glance what was the matter with her haughty brother, and she was glad enough to tell him all there was to know of how and where the talking leaves had been found.

"did they speak to you?"

"no. but i saw pictures."

"pictures of what?"

"mountains; big lodges; trees; braves; pale-face squaws; pappooses; white men's bears; and pictures that lied—not like anything."

"ugh! bad medicine. talk too much. so blue-coat soldier throw them away."

"they talk to rita."

"what say to her?"

"i don't know. she'll tell me. she'll tell you if you ask her."

"ugh! no. red wolf is a warrior. not want any squaw talk about pictures. you ask rita some things."

"what things?"

"make the talking leaves tell where all blue-coat soldiers go. all that camped here. know then whether we follow 'em."

"maybe they won't tell."

"burn some. the rest talk then. white man's leaves not want to tell about white man. rita must make them talk. old braves in camp say they know. many times the talking leaves tell the pale-faces all about indians. tell where go. tell what do. tell how to find and kill. bad medicine."

the "old braves" of many an indian band have puzzled their heads over the white man's way of learning things and sending messages to a distance, and red wolf's ideas had nothing unusual in them. if the talking leaves could say anything at all, they could be made to tell a chief and his warriors the precise things they wanted to know.

ni-ha-be's talk with her brother lasted until he pointed to the camp-fire, where many bears was resting after his first attack upon the results of mother dolores's cooking.

"great chief eat. good time talk to him. go now."

there was no intentional lack of politeness in the sharp, overbearing tone of red wolf. it was only the ordinary manner of a warrior speaking to a squaw. it would therefore have been very absurd for ni-ha-be to get out of temper about it; but her manner and the toss of her head as she turned away was decidedly wanting in the submissive meekness to be expected of her age and sex.

"it won't be long before i have a lodge of my own," she said, positively. "i'll have rita come and live with me. red wolf shall not make her burn the talking leaves. maybe she can make them talk to me. my eyes are better than hers. she's nothing but a pale-face, if she did get brought into my father's lodge."

a proud-spirited maiden was ni-ha-be, and one who wanted a little more of "her own way" than she could have under the iron rule of her great father and the watchful eyes of mother dolores.

"i'll go to the bushes and see rita. our supper won't be ready yet for a good while."

it would be at least an hour, but ni-ha-be had never seen a clock in her life, and knew nothing at all about "hours." there is no word for such a thing in the apache language.

she was as light of foot as an antelope, and her moccasins hardly made a sound upon the grass as she parted the bushes and looked in upon rita's hiding-place.

"weeping? the talking leaves have been scolding her! i will burn them! they shall not say things to make her cry!"

in a moment more her arms were around the neck of her adopted sister. it was plain enough that the two girls loved each other dearly.

"rita, what is the matter? have they said strong words to you?"

"no, ni-ha-be; good words, all of them. only i cannot understand them all."

"tell me some. see if i can understand them. i am the daughter of a great chief."

ni-ha-be did not know how very little help the wealth of a girl's father can give her in a quarrel with her school-books. but just such ideas as hers have filled the silly heads of countless young white people of both sexes.

"i can tell you some of it."

"tell me what made you cry."

"i can't find my father. he is not here. not in any of them."

"you don't need him now. he was only a pale-face. many bears is a great chief. he is your father now."

something seemed to tell rita that she would not be wise to arouse her friend's national jealousy. it was better to turn to some of the pictures and try to explain them. very funny explanations she gave, too, but she at least knew more than ni-ha-be, and the latter listened seriously enough.

"rita, was there ever such a mule as that?—one that could carry a pack under his skin?"

it was rita's turn now to be proud, for that was one of the pictures she had been able to understand. she had even read enough to be able to tell ni-ha-be a good deal about a camel.

it was deeply interesting, but the apache maiden suddenly turned from the page to exclaim,

"rita, red wolf says the talking leaves must tell you about the blue-coat soldiers or he will burn them up."

"i'm going to keep them."

"i won't let him touch them."

"but, ni-ha-be, they do tell about the soldiers. look here."

she picked up another of the magazines, and turned over a few leaves.

"there they are. all mounted and ready to march."

sure enough, there was a fine woodcut of a party of cavalry moving out of camp with wagons.

over went the page, and there was another picture.

ten times as many cavalry on the march, followed by an artillery force with cannon.

"oh, rita! father must see that."

"of course he must; but that is not all."

another leaf was turned, and there was a view of a number of indian chiefs in council at a fort, with a strong force of both cavalry and infantry drawn up around them.

rita had not read the printed matter on any of those pages, and did not know that it was only an illustrated description of campaigning and treaty-making on the western plains. she was quite ready to agree with ni-ha-be that many bears ought to hear at once what the talking leaves had to say about so very important a matter.

it was a good time to see him now, for he was no longer very hungry, and word had come in from the hunters that they were having good success. a fine prospect of a second supper, better than the first, was just the thing to make the mighty chief good-tempered, and he was chatting cosily with some of his "old braves" when rita and ni-ha-be drew near.

they beckoned to red wolf first.

"the talking leaves have told rita all you wanted them to. she must speak to father."

red wolf's curiosity was strong enough to make him arrange for that at once, and even many bears himself let his face relax into a grim smile as the two girls came timidly nearer the circle of warriors.

after all, they were the pets and favorites of the chief; they were young and pretty, and so long as they did not presume to know more than warriors and counsellors they might be listened to. besides, there were the talking leaves, and rita's white blood, bad as it was for her, might be of some use in such a matter.

"ugh!"

many bears looked at the picture of the cavalry squad with a sudden start. "no lie this time. camp right here. just so many blue-coats. just so many wagons. good. now where go?"

rita turned the leaf, and her indian father was yet more deeply interested.

"ugh! more blue-coats. great many. no use follow. get all killed. big guns. indians no like 'em. ugh!"

if the cavalry expedition was on its way to join a larger force, it would indeed be of no use to follow it, and many bears was a cautious leader as well as a brave one.

rita's news was not yet all given, however, and when the eyes of the chief fell upon the picture of the "treaty-making" he sprang to his feet.

"ugh! big talk come. big presents. other apaches all know—all be there—all get blanket, gun, tobacco, new axe. nobody send us word, because we off on hunt beyond the mountains. now we know, we march right along. rest horse, kill game, then ride. not lose our share of presents."

rita could not have told him his mistake; and, even if she had known it, she would have been puzzled to explain away the message of the talking leaves. did not every brave in the band know that that first picture told the truth about the cavalry? why, then, should they doubt the correctness of the rest of it?

no, a treaty there was to be, and presents were to come from the red man's "great father at washington," and that band of apaches must manage to be on hand, and secure all that belonged to it, and as much more as possible.

red wolf had nothing more to say about burning up leaves which had talked so well, and his manner toward rita was almost respectful as he led her and ni-ha-be away from the group of great men that was now gathering around the chief. red wolf was too young a brave to have any business to remain while gray heads were in council. a chief would almost as soon take advice from a squaw as from a "boy."

mother dolores had heard nothing of all this, but her eyes had not missed the slightest thing. she had even permitted a large slice of deer-meat to burn to a crisp, in her eager curiosity.

"what did they say to the chief?" was her first question to rita; but ni-ha-be answered her with,

"ask the warriors. if we talk too much we shall get into trouble."

"you must tell me."

"not till after supper. rita, don't let's tell her a word unless she cooks for us, and gives us all we want. she made us get our own supper last night."

"you came late. i did not tell your father. i gave you enough. i am very good to you."

"no," said rita, "sometimes you are cross, and we don't get enough to eat. now you shall cook us some corn-bread and some fresh meat. i am tired of dried buffalo; it is tough."

the curiosity of dolores was getting hotter and hotter, and she thought again of the wonderful leaf which had spoken to her. she wanted to ask rita questions about that, too, and she had learned by experience that there was more to be obtained from her wilful young friends by coaxing than in any other way.

"i will get your supper now, while the chiefs are talking. it shall be a good supper—good enough for many bears. then you shall tell me all i ask."

"of course i will," said rita.

a fine fat deer had been deposited near that campfire by one of the first hunters that returned, and mother dolores was free to cut and carve from it; but her first attempt at a supper for the girls did not succeed very well. it was not on account of any fault of hers, however, or because the venison-steak she cut and spread upon the coals, while her corn-bread was frying, did not broil beautifully.

no, the temporary disappointment of ni-ha-be and rita was not the fault of mother dolores. their mighty father was sitting where the odor of that cooking blew down upon him, and it made him hungry again before the steak was done. he called red wolf to help him, for the other braves were departing to their own camp-fires, and in a minute or so more there was little left of the supper intended for the two young squaws.

dolores patiently cut and began to broil another slice, but that was red wolf's first supper, and it was the third slice which found its way into the lodge after all.

the strange part of it was that not even ni-ha-be dreamed of complaining. it was according to custom.

there was plenty of time to eat supper after it came, for dolores was compelled to look out for her own. she would not have allowed any other squaw to cook for her any more than she herself would have condescended to fry a cake for any one below the rank of her own husband and his family. mere common braves and their squaws could take care of themselves, and it was of small consequence to dolores whether they had anything to eat or not. there is more "aristocracy" among the wild red men than anywhere else, and they have plenty of white imitators who should know better.