Crackle, pop, roar――and the wall of fire charged the clearing, dashed into it, licked hotly across it, and snatched at the robe. He felt the robe shrivel and writhe, and smelled the stench of sizzling flesh and hair. He could scarcely breathe. Over him the buffalo hide was scorching through and through. How the fire roared, how the wind blew; but neither fire nor wind could get at him through that tough, inch-thick canopy. Almost smothered by heat and smoke, Little White Osage cringed, waiting. He was a wee bit afraid. Soon he knew that the fire had passed. He ventured to raise an edge of the hide and peek from under. Smoke wafted into his face and choked him. Black lay the cindered land around; the fire was surging on to the west, where the sand hills would stop it, but it had mowed a path too hot to walk on, yet. He must stay awhile. He reached out a hand and dragged to him a piece of the charred bloody buffalo meat, and nibbled at it. Over him the buffalo hide had stiffened, to form a pup-tent; and really he was not so very uncomfortable. He ate, and stretching the best that he might, pillowed his face on his bended arm. Next, he was asleep――tired Little White Osage. He slept with an ear open, for voices and tread of feet aroused him. People were coming. He craned his neck to peer about――and ducked further inside, like a turtle inside its shell. Two persons had arrived in the clearing. They were walking straight toward him. They were white men. They were some of those United States warriors! A moment more, and a heavy foot kicked the hide――thump!――and hands ruthlessly overthrew it. Exposed, Little White Osage sprang erect, gained his feet at a bound, stood bravely facing the two warriors of the “’Nited States.” He would not show them that he feared. “B’gorry,” exclaimed a voice, “here’s a quare pea in a pod!” II PETER GOES ABOARD Little White Osage did not understand the words, but they were said with a laugh. He could only stare. Two, were these United States men. The one who had spoken was short and broad and quick, like a bear. He had a lean freckled face and shrewd twinkling grey eyes. He wore a blue shirt, and belted trousers, and boots, and on his head a wide-brimmed black hat. Leaning upon a long-barrelled flint-lock gun, he laughed. The other man was younger――much younger, almost too young to take the war path. He was smooth-faced and very blue-eyed. He wore a blue shirt, too, and fringed buckskin trousers, and moccasins, and around his black hair a red handkerchief, gaily tied. But as his hair was black, he could not be one of the chiefs. The short man’s hair was not black, but it was the color of wet sand――and so he could not be one of the chiefs. Now the young warrior spoke and his voice was sweet. “Who are you, boy?” This Little White Osage did understand. The words penetrated through as from a distance. There had been a long time since he had heard such words. His throat swelled to answer.