Will was still compelled to realize that he was a slave; that he, a white lad, the heir of untold centuries of civilization and culture, was the slave of a people who, despite all their courage and other virtues, were savages. They stood where, in many respects, his ancestors had stood ten or twenty thousand years ago. Again and again, the thought was so bitter that he felt like making a run for freedom and ending it all on the Indian spear. But the thought would change, and with it came the hope that some day or other the moment of escape would appear, and there was a lurking feeling, too, that his present life was not wholly unpleasant, or, at least, there were compensations. An increased strength came with the rapid recovery from his illness. Beyond any question he had grown in both height and breadth since he had been in the mountains, and his muscles were as hard as iron. Not one of the Indian youths could exert as much direct strength as he, or endure as much. His patience, which was now largely the result of calculation and will, began to have its visible effect upon the people. There is nothing that an Indian admires more than stoicism. The fortitude that can endure pain without a groan is to him the highest of attributes. Will had never complained, no matter how great his hardships or labors, and gradually they began to look upon him as one of their own. His face was tanned heavily by continuous exposure to all kinds of weather, his original garments were worn out, and he was now clad wholly in deerskins. A casual observer would have passed him at any time as a tall Indian youth. One day as a mark of favor he was put back as a guard upon the herd of ponies, now considerably increased in numbers, probably by raids upon other tribes, and full of life, as they had done little all the autumn but crop the rich grass of the valley. Will found himself busy keeping them within bounds, but his old, happy touch soon returned, and the Indians, to their renewed amazement, soon saw the animals obeying him instinctively. "It is magic," said old Xingudan. "Then it is good magic," said Inmutanka, "and Wayaka is a good lad. He does not know it yet, but he is beginning to like our life. Think of that, O, Xingudan." "You were ever of soft heart, O, Inmutanka," said Xingudan, as he turned away. Will's tasks were as long as ever, but they changed greatly in character. He was no longer compelled to work with the women and children, save when the tending of the herds brought him into contact with the boys, but there he was now an acknowledged chief. A distemper appeared among the ponies and the Sioux were greatly alarmed, but Will, with some simple remedies he had learned in the East, stopped it quickly and with the loss of but two or three ponies. Old Xingudan gave him no thanks save a brief, "It is well," but the lad knew that he had done them a great service and that they were not wholly ungrateful.