obtained between here and Fremont, would have evaporated. But it only made them more insistent in their demands and some were looking quite sullen. At last a young fellow, _not_ an Indian--for he had long dark curls reaching to his shoulders--with a strategic smile asked in good English for a "drink of water." Instead of leaving the door, as he evidently calculated, I called to my little boy to bring it. A giggle ran through the crowd at the expense of the strategist but it was plain they were growing ugly. Now the older Indian took the opportunity to make them an earnest talk, and though it was against their wishes, he at last started them toward the grove. After a while Frank Everett, my nephew, who had come down to bolster up my courage, and the children went to bed and to sleep, but no sleep for me; as the gray dawn was showing in the east, a terrific pounding upon the door turned my blood to ice. Again and again it came, and at last I tiptoed to the door and stooped to look through the crack. A pair of very slim ankles was all that was visible and as I rose to my feet, the very sweetest music I had ever heard saluted me, the neigh of my pet colt Bonnie, who had failed to receive her accustomed drink of milk the previous evening and took this manner of reminding me. This was the only time we were ever menaced with actual danger, and many laughable false alarms at last cured me of my fears of a people among whom I now have valued friends. RECOLLECTIONS OF WEEPING WATER, NEBRASKA BY I. N. HUNTER