“Old Squatty’s cabin would be as good a place as any in a blow,” her father replied. “If we get one, we could put the horses in shelter around there, and maybe the lightning might give the old lady a real glimpse into the beyond. Shall we try it, sister?” to Miss Allen who was, as a rule, rather timid of the storms that sprung up so suddenly on the plains. “I am perfectly willing,” acquiesced the lady. “As you say, brother, the cabin would be a comparatively safe place to seek shelter in.” With that velocity peculiar to storms of the prairie the anticipated baby cyclone gathered force, and with one great gust and almost without warning broke over their heads. Jane opened the curtains of the cart to allow the gale a way out, without incurring the possibility of upsetting them. Judith was simply fascinated with the sweep everything was taking, but Aunt Mary gathered herself as far as possible into her bonnet and wrap, scarcely venturing to speak while Mr. Allen held his horses in with a firm rein. “Just a few paces,” he shouted reassuringly. “Hold tight!” “All right,” called back Jane, and so deafening was the swirl that only a clear, loud voice such as she exercised could have made its way to the driver just in front. Two big shaggy dogs intercepted the dash of the buckboard into the squaw’s lane. The old woman was still outside, hunched up in the queerest sort of a hammock, made of a halfed barrel, strung up to two young oak trees. With something like a howl she called the dogs off, and waved a stick to the travelers to come in, seemingly sensing the possibility of profit in their visit. Mr. Allen discovered where to find shelter for his team, and as the storm was tearing and scattering limbs of trees, and everything it could wrench from stability, he did not stop until he had entered the queer stable with the cart and its occupants. “Now we are in for it,” he admitted, assisting Aunt Mary to alight. “I’m glad we are here and not on Steeple Hill.” “Thrills!” exclaimed Judith. “More thrills. I have seen nothing but wonders since I came to Montana. I really think, Janie, I have had more real experiences while here than in all my coast touring.” “Lovely of you to say so, Judy. But just wait till you see old Mrs. Teekawata. She is the wife of the one great medicine man, or rather his widow. Don’t mention fortune telling, that would offend her. She is a ‘scientist.’ She will mix up stuffs, and get clues from the smoke! That is if she is in a communicative mood.” “Or in need of white bread,” amended Mr. Allen, who had overheard the girls. “Teekawata is a business woman with talents wasted. She should have been a copper queen.”