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intelligent. After a few visits I told him my story with perfect confidence. I do not think he believed it altogether, for he now insisted on putting in a plea of insanity. I scorned to do this, and grew indignant as he persisted. He never betrayed a word of my history, however, and went on, honestly, no doubt, making up his case to prove his client insane.

Brave, noble Holbrook ! he was doing, or thought he was doing, all in his power to serve his client. This man became a brilliant lawyer, a leading spirit in Idaho, and twice represented the Territory in Congress with distinction. He was killed in the prime of manhood in a hand-to-hand encounter a sort of duel.

One night, as I lay half-awake in the steaming little den, I heard the call of the cakea, or night bird, on the steep hill-side above the prison. It stopped, came nearer, called again, called three times, retreated, called thrice, came again nearer, and called as at first. I sprang to the window and answered through the bars, till I heard the jailer turn in his bed, where he lay in a large room into which my cell opened, and then I was silent. But ah, how glad ! All night I paced eagerly around the room, trying to strengthen my legs, and throwing out my arms to harden them for action. I knew my friends the red men had followed and found me. Here was something to be done. I forgot about my lawyers, refused my food no longer, and filled my head with plans.