Iowa capitol reporter. [volume] (Iowa City, Iowa) 1841-1855, 1851-08-13

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his mistress, fawning. on her; ~ II ~
expected to be praised for what q
had dene, andscennes ~ word - - 80
,''Nj she |o0fe ~ q t.I q Z;
animal, who would have pulled down
an Indian as he woulda deer, crouch
ed humbly at the young womans feet.
Susan carried the young body gently
in her arms to the hut, and laid it on
her own bed. Her first impulse was
to seize a loaded rifle that hung over
the fireplace, and shoot the hound;
and yet she feltshe could not do it, for
in the lone life she led, the faithful
limal seemed like dear and valu-
ed friend, who loved and watched
over her, as if aware of the precious
charge entrusted to him. She thought
also of what her husband would say,
when, on his return, he should find
his old companion dead. Susan had
never seen Tom reused. To her he
had ever shown nothing but kind
ness; yet she feard as well as loved
him, for there was fire in those dark
eyes which told of deep, wild passion
hidden in bis breast, and she knew
that the lives of a whole tribe Of In
dians would be light in the balance
against that of his favorite hound.
. Having securely fastened up Nero,
Susan, with a heavy heart, proceeded
to examine the ground around the
hut, In several places she observed
the impression of small moe ccosined
foot, but not a child's. /. The tracks
marked, unlike the usual Tight, elastic
tread Of an Indian. From this cir
cumstance Susan easily inferred that
the woman had been carrying her
child when attacked by the dog
There was nothing TO show why she
had come GbdIear the hut; most prob
ably the hopes Of some pretty plum
der had been the inducement. Su-
san did not dare to wander far from
home, fearing q band Of Indians
might be in iahhorhQod. She
returned sorrowfh1ly to Che hut, and
employed herself in blocking up the
window, or rather the hole where the
window had been, for the powerful
hound had in his leap, dashed out the
entire frame, and shattered it to pie
ces. When this was finished, Susan
dug grave, and in it laid the little
Indian boy. She made it close to the
hut, for she could not bearthat wolves
should devour those delicate limbs,
and she knew that there it would be
safe. The next day Tom returned.
He had been very unsuccessful, and
intended setting out again in a, few
days, in a different direction.
"Susan,' he said, when he had
heard her sad story, 4 wish you'd leef
the child where the dog killed him.
The squaw's high sartain to come
back a seekin' for the body, and tbs
a pity she should be disappointed
Besides, the Ingins will be high sar-
tain to put it down to US; whereas, if
SO be as they'd found the body 'pon
the spot, may be they'd understand
as 'twas an accident like, for they're
unkimmon cunning warmints, though
they ant got sense like Christians"
"Why doyou think the poor woman
came here? said Susan. II never
knew an Indian squaw so near the
hut before
She fancied she saw dark shadow
fit across her husbands brow. He
made no reply; and on her repeating
the question, said angerly.' How
should know? IT'S as well to ask
for bears reasons as an Ingin's.'
Tom only stayed home long enough
to mend the broken window, plant a
small spot of Indian corn, and then
again set out, telling Susan not to
expect him again in less than a month.
eff that squaw comes this way again.
he said as may be she will, jist put out
any broken victuals you've got for the
poor crittter; though may be she won't
come, for they lngins be unkimmon
skeary.' Susan wondered at his TAX
ing an interest in the woman, and
often thought of that dark look she
had noticed, and of Toms unwilling
ness to speak on the subject. She
never knew that on his last hunting
expedition, when hiding some skins
which he intended to fetch on his re-
turn, he had observed an Indian
watching him, and had shot him with
as little mercy as he would have shot
a wolf. On Toms return to the spot
the body was gone, and in the soft
damp soil was the mark of an Indian
squaw's foot, and by its side a little
child's. He was very sorry then for
the deed he had done; he thought of
the grief Of the poor widow, and how
it would be possible for her to live un-
til she could reach her tribe, who
were far, far distant, at the foot of the
Rocky mountains and now to feel
that through his means, too, she had