and of Reginald? but affectionate compassion for her young brother’s sad condition overcoming every other feeling, she said to him, “Dear, dear Wingenund, you are wearied to death, sit by me and rest; you are starved, are you not?” “Wingenund has not eaten for two days,” replied the youth, seating himself gently at his sister’s side. Fortunately, more than half of the evening meal apportioned to Prairie–bird and Lita remained untouched in the tent, and the latter instantly set before the youth some well–cooked cakes and bison meat, luxuries such as had not passed his lips for many a day; and having also placed a vessel of water within his reach, she went, with the intuitive delicacy and sagacity of her sex, towards the opening of the tent, so as to afford Prairie–bird an opportunity of speaking unrestrainedly to her brother, and at the same time to secure them as far as possible against interruption. Wingenund, with all his heroic patience and self–denial, was a young half–starved Indian, and the delicacies set before him vanished in a few minutes, as if they had been placed before a famished wolf. Prairie–bird offered him a draught of water, adding, with an affectionate smile, “My brother, ’tis well that there is no more meat; a full meal is dangerous after so long a fast!” “It is enough,” replied the youth; “Wingenund is well now.” “Tell me, then, how you have followed to this distant region, and whether you have seen any thing of War–Eagle, and of—his friends?” “Wingenund has seen none,” he replied; “nothing except the trail of Mahéga, and that he would have followed to the big salt lake, or to death.” “But how has it been possible for you to pursue the trail undiscovered, to find food, and to avoid strange Indians on the path?” “Wingenund kept far behind the Washashee; their eyes could not reach him; he has left on every day’s trail marks that War–Eagle will know; they will speak to him as plainly as my sister’s Medicine–book tells her the Great Spirit’s will. He will come soon, and his friends with him.” “But my brother has not told me how he procured food on this toilsome journey?” “When the Lenapé’s heart is full he thinks little of food,” replied the youth proudly. He added, in a more subdued tone: “It was not easy to find meat, for the Washashee had driven the bison from their path, and Wingenund could not leave their trail. Twice he has met bad Indians, who tried to kill him.” “And how did he escape them, being without a horse?” inquired Prairie–bird. “They were too many for him to fight, and he ran from them; but being weak with hunger, one Aricará overtook him by the waters of the Arkansas. Wingenund shot him, and, plunging into the river, dived; and the others never found him; but Wingenund lost his rifle, and since then he has eaten only roots and fruit.”