He was now heading toward the home of the Clarendons, where he had met so many singular experiences during the earlier part of the evening. He held Dot with such care that she continued sleeping as sweetly as if lying in her own bed at home. Never was Red Feather more cautious and skilful. Thoroughly trained in woodcraft, and an adept in all the cunning of his people, he used those gifts with success, and, though he approached close to the party of Sioux which were hurrying away from the vengeance of the white men, they never suspected the fact, and the meeting was avoided. Within the succeeding half-hour his listening ear caught the neigh of a horse which had detected his own while the two were invisible. Instantly the chieftain brought the pony to a standstill, and peered and listened with all the acuteness he possessed. The horsemen were coming that way, and would soon be in sight. At the very moment their figures were beginning to outline themselves he emitted a whistle, precisely the same as that used by Melville Clarendon when he signaled to him from the Upper Crossing. [Illustration: "The horseman were coming that way."] As he did so he held his pony ready to send him flying over the prairie at break-neck speed. But his heart was thrilled almost in the same second by a reply, which he knew came from no lips except those of the boy himself. Yes; Melville had recognized the call, and sending back the reply, he shouted-- "That's Red Feather! Come, father; I know he's got Dot!" In a twinkling, as may be said, the chief found himself in the middle of the band of Nat Trumbull and his rangers, where he was overwhelmed with congratulations. Although Dot was asleep, her father could not be restrained, and caught her in his arms and pressed her to his heart with tears of joy and thanks to Heaven for its mercy in restoring her to him unharmed. It must be said that Dot was disposed to be cross at being awakened in this summary fashion; but when her little brain came to understand all that had taken place, and she saw that it was her own father who was caressing her, she laughed and shouted, and wanted to kiss and embrace every one of the party, who were just as much pleased to fondle the child as though each had a proprietary interest in her. Since it was evident the Sioux could not be brought to book, Nat Trumbull turned about and headed for Barwell, which the whole party reached before the morning sun appeared. Red Feather kept them company, and I must say that I doubt whether the President of the United States himself could have received a warmer welcome when the whole truth became known to the pioneers.