until it assumed fairly tremendous proportions.

I went back to my cabin in search of some sort of a weapon, muttering to myself and savagely shaking my fists. When I came out, armed with a base-ball bat, an Indian stood by the fire, regarding me with pained astonishment.

He was about six feet six in height, and wide in proportion. His hair was short, and he wore no feathered head-dress, much to my surprise, for I thought an Indian always wore a feathered head-dress to keep his wigwa’m. His powerful bronze body was artistically draped in a Navajo blanket, however, and he had moccasins on his feet, so he looked his part.

Students of psychology have often observed the inexplicable effect that a surprise has upon the emotions. Frequently a complete reversal takes place, and it was so with me. A moment before, I had been furious and literally aflame with the lust of slaughter. Now I was conscious only of a broad, far-reaching brotherly love, and a keen, deep-seated desire to be friends with that Indian.Acting swiftly upon this impulse, I advanced with hands outstretched and a smile of welcome upon my lips. “How!” I exclaimed. “The White Father is overjoyed to find his brother, the Red Man, sharing his humble hospitality. Too long have the feet of the palefaces had the right of way upon the trail. The woods are lonely without their brothers, the Red Men, and together we will live in this peaceful solitude until Bliz-Bliz, the snow-bird, spreads his wings and brings the cold. In my knapsack I have ample provisions to make the heart of my noble brother glad—Ma-Ma, the white bread, Bow-Wow, the Bologna sausage, Fishy-Can-Dish, the sardine, a package of the famous Polly crackers, Ah-Sid, the lemon, and a fragment of Phew-Phew, the well-known German cheese. Strange lands have sent their best viands to grace this notable occasion. Will not my brother, the Red Man, accept these small gifts until such time as I can go to the city after more? This very night I will set out upon the long trail, returning upon the wings of the wind with further tokens. If this is pleasing to my brother, I will now spread the evening meal, and after it, while the Night Owl searches for his prey, we will smoke the Perfectos of Peace. Will not my brother, the Red Man, tell the paleface his name?”

“John Baldwin,” said the Indian, very quietly. “Carlisle, ’99. Centre rush on the team.” 

When I came to my senses, he was fanning me with a corner of his blanket, and moistening my numb lips with brandy. Presently I was able to sit up against a pine tree, 

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