Eagerly they drank the waters of the limpid stream for which they as well as their beasts had been suffering. Tired with their rapid marches which the necessity of procuring water had forced them to take they resolved to rest the remainder of the day. Selecting a spot by the stream, shut in by tall cliffs on either side, they secured their horses and were preparing to spend the night when the chief hurriedly motioned them to be silent. He then with noiseless tread ascended the cliff behind them. Evidently some new danger awaited them, and with terror they clung to each other for protection from the unknown evil. In half an hour he returned. "Indians yonder!" said he, briefly, pointing towards the cliff on the opposite side of the stream. "Have you seen and do you know them?" asked the trapper, adding, "Perhaps we are nearer home, and they belong to some friendly tribes?" "Does she?" asked the chief, turning with a scornful gesture towards Mahnewe. The squaw rising from the bank where she had been sitting advanced with the look of sadness entirely dispelled from her face, which was now sunny and radiant with joy. "Mahnewe," said she, speaking earnestly and rapidly, "is the friend of the white man, and so are her people. Over the hills yonder is their village and these are their hunting grounds. Let not the white man fear; he has saved the life of a wife of the chief, and Mahnewe will answer for his safety." "Are you sure of what you say?" asked Jane, whose dread of cannibals was the torture of her life. "Mahnewe cannot mistake the place of her people," said the squaw, looking amused at the evident fright of the young girl. "I mean of what tribe are they,--are you, Mahnewe?" "The squaw will not tell," said the chief, tauntingly. "She knows they are the enemies of the Arapahoes. The Snake fears the Eagle." "Mahnewe is the daughter of a chief, and the wife of a chief. She is not a coward; red blood is in her veins. She is a Snake, and fears not the Arapahoe!" "Come, this will never answer, chief! Leave Mahnewe to me. Now, tell me truly,--are we on the hunting-grounds of the Snakes, and are you one of that tribe?" "Mahnewe has said it, and cannot lie," returned the woman earnestly, and with great dignity of manner. "If this is true, we are saved," said the trapper. "I have friends among that people, and know my way home from their hunting-grounds." "Are you sure of what you tell us, Mahnewe?" asked Sidney; "for a mistake on this point might involve us all in destruction." "Are not yonder the hills where my childhood's years were spent? Who can forget the home of their kindred, the place of their birth?" "Sometimes hills in the distance bear a resemblance to others, which vanishes on a nearer approach," observed the trapper. "Let Mahnewe go to her people, she fears not of finding strangers in their place," said she, in pleasing tones.