They began to descend into the camp from the spot where they stood. It was difficult, more so than on the other side, and needed a quick eye and hand to accomplish the descent without the greatest danger. A fall would have been certain death. They took Millicent between them, and aided her down the perilous path, the strength and skill of Ben standing them both in good stead in a hundred ways before they accomplished the distance. The loose slate slipped under their feet, and it was with a feeling of heartfelt satisfaction that he saw his two companions safe on the solid earth below. “Well done, miss; well done, old boy; I knew ye hed the right sort of stuff in ye. This climbin’ about among the rocks is my best holt, an’ ye kept even with me. Thar ain’t many could do it, an’ I may safely say no woman’s foot ever trod what yours did to-day, miss. It’s somethin’ to be proud of, an’ I’m raally proud of comin’ down thar. Now then, put yer best foot foremost, an’ let’s see what damage the brutes hev done in the camp.” “You objected to my calling you _sir_ the other day,” said Millicent. “I must quarrel with you now, father Ben. My name is Milly.” “Psho, now!” responded Ben, with a delighted look. “Ye don’t mean to call the old man by _that_ name, do ye?” “Yes; all my hope is in you now; you must call me Milly.” “Yer a sweet gal, Milly; the man thet couldn’t fight fer ye don’t desarve the name of man nohow. Now look yer: I’m goin’ ter save yer young man--you see ef I don’t! I’ll save him or lay my bones by the Powder river; thet’s ez good ez swore to.” “If you could save him, father Ben, I should love you always, dearly.” “You would? And ye called me father Ben? All right. We’ll see ef thar ain’t suthin’ yit in old Ben Miffin.” They hurried to the hut and entered; every thing was in confusion, and it was some time before they could collect the scattered articles sufficiently to see that not one had been removed. Every thing remained intact, to the utter surprise of Ben, who knew that Blackfeet are born thieves. In all his experience, he had never known them to enter a camp and leave any thing which could possibly be taken away; and there were many little articles, such as traps, blankets, knives, hatchets, and the like, much coveted by the Indians, lying about in every direction, untouched. Ben looked about him in amazement. “I’ve seen a good many things in my time, strange things too, but this beats all natur’,” he said. “Vat beats?” said Jan. “They ain’t stole a _thing_; they’ve even left our hosses.” “I dinks dese pe coot Injuns,” said Jan, with a grin. “Good! Git out! Don’t be pokin’ fun at a chap in yer old age. The world is comin’ to an end; don’t say it ain’t; I know better. I went down to Selkirk last summer, an’ thar was a chap thar preachin’ thet the accounts of the world would be brung to a close jest about this time; an’ the durned critter was right--a Millerite, they called him.”