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 gate a sentry constantly paced, by day; another sentry walked a beat on the top of a mound of earth that half circled the rear of the fort and banked the store-*rooms against the cold. John Shields, the blacksmith, established his forge—and that, also, was great medicine. The Indians crowded about to watch the bellows fan the charcoal into ruddy heat. Even the interpreters were astonished, when John set to work.

"Ma foi!" exclaimed Toussaint Chaboneau. "I go get my squaw's kettle. She haf one hole in him."

Away he ran, and returned with Sa-ca-ja-we-a, bringing her kettle. A gentle little woman was the girlish Sa-ca-ja-we-a, or Bird-woman, of the far distant Snake nation; everybody was fond of her. John Shields willingly took the kettle, and patched the hole in it; and beaming with smiles the Bird-woman hastened to put it on her fire again.

But the wife of Jessaume had a kettle which could not be mended; and very indignant and jealous she left the fort, with her kettle and her children, and went across the river to her own people.

"Huh!" said Jessaume, shrugging his shoulders. "She be so bad, guess I get 'nodder wife."

John Shields not only mended kettles for the women, but he mended the battle-axes and tomahawks of the men. From scraps of sheet-iron and tin he manufactured a marvelous variety of articles—hide-scrapers, punches, arrow points, and occasionally a whole battle-ax. For these, the Indians from the vil