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 The old squaw looked scowlingly toward Nattie, who stood leaning on a bench not far from the chieftain.

"Get you to the spring by the beech-tree, and draw water for filling the pot," she said; "we want no white idlers in our cabin. If your sick face is put on to get you ease, it will he best cured by work and the green hide."

Nattie droopingly took the two heavy buckets and started for the door. As she went down the well-trodden path, her head was full of strange sounds. She thought, at first, that it was the murmuring of the rivulet which supplied the spring, but the sounds grew louder and more confusing. She erred in her steps, and reeled against a great tree. She would have fallen heavily to the earth had not the arm of the old chief saved her.

"The brain of the pale-face is hurt," he said. "I must search for the remedies of the red medicine-man, before the sun reaches his half-way house this day. The gift of the Great Spirit to