or mouth clean. And yet this cabin was furnished as well as those of thousands of other pioneers.The supper was well under way when Joseph Morris appeared at the edge of the homestead clearing side by side with White Buffalo, who slackened his pace to a dignified walk when approaching the cabin. The Indian was of the tribe of Delawares, tall, thin, and as straight as an arrow. His eyes were black and bright, and his mouth showed a set of teeth as clean and polished as those of a wolf. His headgear consisted principally of white feathers, tipped with yellow to imitate gold, and over his shoulder he carried a small blanket of buffalo hide, dyed white with yellow spots, the spots being somewhat in the shape of wolves’ heads. This signified, in the Indian language, that he was White Buffalo, son of Yellow Wolf, a former powerful chief of the Delawares.

As the Indian came up Dave ran out to meet him and shake his hand. “I am very glad to see White Buffalo,” he said. “I hope you bring good news of my father,” and he pressed the red man’s hand warmly.

“How-how!” answered the Indian in return, meaning, “how do you do?” Then he looked at Dave steadily for a few seconds. “The white boy’s father was well when I left him, eight sleeps ago. He must still be well,” he went on.

“I am glad to hear that, White Buffalo. Did he find the spot he visited before?”

At this question a proud look came into the Indian’s face. “Yes, he found the spot, but not alone. White Buffalo was told how the place looked, and he hunted it up for the white boy’s father.”

“White Buffalo has brought a long letter from your father,” put in Joseph Morris. “I know you are impatient to read it, so you may do so before we have supper,” and he handed the communication to his nephew. Then he led the Indian into the cabin, where Mrs. Morris and the others greeted him as warmly as had Dave, for all but little Nell knew the old chief well and liked him.

The letter from James Morris was straight to the point and characteristic of the man, and ran, in part, as follows:

“The journey to this spot was a hard one. We had great difficulty in crossing the rivers, and at one of the fords Bess, a good black mare, lost her footing and was drowned before we could catch her and take off her packs.

“Two days before we reached the Kinotah we came upon a band of very dirty Indians under the leadership of Fox Head, a Miami. They begged for many things and we had at 

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