above her head and cackled hideously. Directly ahead of Bridger stood old Deschamps, and his gun covered Bridger's chest. To Lander, Bridger called out:
"Take it easy. Don't show any fight—yet. That old hag led us into a' ambush. These are thieving breeds. What the devil's the matter with that medicine of mine!" Then to Deschamps: "Why do you hold me up like this?"
"We want to have a talk with you," Deschamps explained in Assiniboin.
"Talk Crow or English, you thieving devil," commanded Bridger.
"Get down and come into our hut," ordered Deschamps, backing away a few steps and speaking in the Crow tongue.
"That skunk Phinny is in there waiting for us?"
"No. I left him at the Crow village on the Yellowstone. He is to marry my girl—make her his wife like white men marry white women. But I do not trust him yet," chuckled Deschamps.
As he finished a young woman, comely of feature and graceful of form, came bounding through the growth and stared wide-eyed at the white men. Lander caught her fancy for a mo-
