As he spoke, they came upon a pappoose, tied to a tree, and blinking in the afternoon sunshine. Just beyond, they found a group of Apaches. The women were cooking fish over live coals of fire. The men seemed to recognize John Clayton. He greeted them in the tongue of the Mexicans, as he drove by, while the Indians jabbered and gesticulated violently. At the bridge just beyond, they crossed the Gila for the last time before turning northward. There, they saw a young Apache catching fish. He glanced up, and Esther recognized in him the visitor who had found her at the schoolhouse. It was evident he knew her, for he started towards the surrey. "He is one of the friendly Apaches," explained John Clayton. "He's often on the range, and has adopted some of the cowboy regimentals, you see." The driver stopped his horses. The Indian came forward, offering John Clayton a number of fish strung on a withe. As he did so, he turned towards Esther, and said: "N[=e]-sh[=e]-äd-nl[)e]h´." "What does he mean?" asked Esther. "I think he wants to buy you from me with these fish," answered John Clayton, turning to her with an amused smile. Putting his hand into a tin box, he took from it a handful of cookies, gave them to the young Indian, and drove on. As they looked back, the last cake was about to disappear down the Indian's throat. "Poor things," said Esther, "they have had no chance." Then Kenneth rallied her on becoming a missionary to the Indians. "I'd be glad to help them as the early Jesuit priests did," she answered. "I cannot but feel that the Indian policy has been very faulty, and that the Indians have been the victims of grafters, some unprincipled Indian agents, and the scum of the white race. You tell me, Mr. Clayton, that the Mexican government offered a bounty of $100 for every Apache man's scalp, $50 for every Apache woman's scalp, and $25 for every Apache child's scalp? I'd fight, too," she continued, indignantly. "I know I'd fight. Poor things!" The company laughed at her championship, and told her how vicious the Apaches were, and many more matters of Indian history. The company were approaching a narrow canyon, through which they must pass for some distance. The waters dashed and boiled in eddies, where huge bowlders obstructed the way, making a pleasant murmur to the ear, soft and musical and low. And Esther Bright listened. Her heart, stirred to sudden anger by the stories of injustice and cruel wrong, was soothed into quiet by this slumber song of the ages. Oh, the music of the waters of the canyon! How, once heard, it echoes in the heart forever! In the midst of the unrest and discord of the world, how the memory of it keeps one close to the very heart of things! How it lingers! How it sings!