Outside the tent hung a bunch of arrows. Against the side leaned a long bow. A fire near by had been hastily covered over. But nowhere about was there a sign of human life.

"Your grandmother has heard the footsteps of strangers approaching," Naki said to Eunice. "Let her know that you are here."

Naki set the little girl down on her feet. Mollie stood by her; but Bab, Ruth, Grace and Reginald Latham were concealed by some thick bushes a few yards away.

Eunice spoke a few words in the Indian tongue. Suddenly the flap of the wigwam opened, revealing an aged Indian woman. She looked older than anyone that the girls had ever seen before. Her brown face was a network of fine wrinkles; but her black eyes blazed with youthful fire. She was tall and straight like the pine trees in her own forest. The old woman wore an ordinary woolen dress. Over her shoulders she had thrown an Indian blanket, striped in orange, black and red. She knew that strangers were near. But her grandchild called her!

At the sight of Eunice the Indian woman gave a curious cry, which she quickly stifled. In a voice that only Mollie, who stood near, could hear she asked: "My little wood pigeon is wounded? I have long feared it."

Mollie marveled that the old Indian squaw spoke English.

Mother Eunice gathered her child in her arms and carried her within the wigwam, laying her on a bed of cedar boughs covered with a heavy blanket.

Naki explained that Eunice had been accidentally shot by a rifle. The old woman grunted. Without a word she tore down a bunch of herbs that hung at the side of a wall. Placing them in an iron pot she went out of her tent and stirred her fire into a quick blaze.

All this time the Indian woman had not spoken to Mollie, nor had she appeared to know that anyone else was near.

Mollie had followed Eunice into the wigwam and knelt by her side. The child moved restlessly. Mollie leaned over her and unfastened her dress.

Around Eunice's neck was an amulet of gold, each link in the chain carved with curious Indian characters. At the end of the amulet, on a square of beaten gold about an inch in size, was a monogram in English lettering.

Mollie had only time to see that the letters, looked like E. L. or E. S.

She could not tell which, for the Indian squaw was back in the room, scowling at her.

As the grandmother tore the bandage from the little Indian girl's arm and washed the wound with her healing herbs, Mollie saw that under the clothing, the child's skin was several shades fairer.

At last the Indian woman rose up from her knees. "Let them come," she requested of Naki. "Let those who linger in the bushes outside my wigwam draw near to it. But beware how they cross the threshold of my tent!"

The squaw stood at her own door, waiting to speak to the girls and Reginald Latham, as they drew near. "You have injured my child!" she said bitterly. "Even in times of peace no Indian seems safe before the bullets of the white man."

Bab colored deeply. "I am dreadfully sorry!" she declared. "It was I who hurt your grandchild. Naki has told you what happened. How could we know she was hiding near us? But, now that I have hurt her, you must at least let us do what we can for her. Naki shall go down the hill and send a doctor up here to look at Eunice's arm."

"Ugh!" grunted the squaw. "An Indian has no need of the white man's doctor. I shall tend my child. Begone, all of you!"

Reginald Latham moved back a few paces; but Bab, Grace and Ruth did not stir.

"Naki," Ruth gave her order quietly, "go down the hill at once and see that a doctor comes up to look at this child's arm. An Indian's treatment for a bullet wound may be a good one. I do not know. But I do know I am not willing that this child should not see a doctor. Bab and I would feel responsible all our lives if anything serious resulted from this accident. Go immediately, Naki," Ruth ended. She was her father's daughter. Though she seldom a.s.serted her authority, there were times when she insisted on obedience.

"We want no doctor here," the Indian woman repeated, rocking back and forth. "No good comes to the Indian from his white neighbors. Therefore, have I tried to keep my child away from them."

But Eunice's voice was heard calling inside the tent.

"Let the ladies come in, grandmother. I wish to have a talk with them."

Sullenly the old woman moved aside and let the girls and Reginald Latham enter the wigwam.

"Little brown one," Eunice cried, smiling at Bab, "you would be almost as brown as I am, if you lived always in the woods. Do not be so sorry that you hurt my arm. It was my fault, not yours. I should not have been in hiding. I disobeyed the commands of my grandmother. See, I am better. She will not let a white doctor look at me, perhaps, because my skin is too fair for an Indian."

"Mr. Latham," Bab turned to Reginald, who had not spoken. He was looking curiously at the furnishings of the wigwam, at the Indian squaw and at Eunice. He did not hear Bab.

"Mr. Latham!" Bab called more distinctly, "can't you persuade----"

A curious guttural noise interrupted her. The old Indian woman's eyes were blazing. She had seized a pine stick in her hand and held it over Reginald Latham's head. "Out of my wigwam! Shall your name forever sound in my ears? Am I not safe in my own house? Out with you!"

Reginald Latham had not waited before the old woman's wrath. He was already several yards down the hill.

The girls were thunderstruck. Why had the name of Latham fired this old squaw to such a burst of fury?

"Come on, Ruth," said Grace, finally. "Let us go back home. We shall do no good by staying here. I suppose we can find our way home! The old Indian woman seems dreadfully upset, and our staying can only make matters worse. Naki will bring the doctor and attend to everything. Then he will let you know about Eunice."

"I think we had better go," Mollie agreed. "I know it will be best for Eunice." She kissed the little Indian girl good-bye. "Tell your grandmother," Mollie explained, "that Mr. Latham had nothing to do with the injury to you. She may have thought he was responsible."

"I told you," whispered Eunice in Mollie's ear, "the name of Latham must not be mentioned in my house. When I first learned to read I found it written in an old book that told only the story of the Indian races. My grandmother tore it from my hand and threw it into the fire, and said I must never hear that English name again."

"Oh!" Mollie faltered. "I remember you did say something about this to me, the first time I saw you, but I did not think about it. I do not understand it now. But never mind. Good-bye."

"The Automobile Girls" joined Reginald Latham farther down the hill.

"What a crazy old thing that Indian woman is!" he muttered, laughing nervously. "She was only making a scene. She never heard the name of Latham before in her life."

"I wonder if that is true?" pondered Mollie to herself all the way back to their cabin.

CHAPTER XIV

GIVE WAY TO MISS SALLIE!

"Aunt Sallie," declared Ruth mournfully about two o'clock the next day, "we are in great trouble!"

"My dear child, what is the matter now?" demanded Miss Stuart.

"Well," continued Ruth, "you remember about the little Indian girl whom Bab accidentally shot yesterday? Naki has come back from a visit to her and says she is very ill. He found the doctor there, who says he won't answer for the child's life unless she is taken to a hospital in the village, where he can see her often, and where she can have the proper care. The doctor told Naki we waited too long yesterday to send for him.

He had to probe Eunice's arm to get out the bullet. But she will be all right if she is only properly looked after."

"Then," declared Miss Sallie, "the matter is a very simple one. Have Naki see to it. The child must be taken to a hospital in Lenox at once.

Everything shall be done for her comfort."

"Indeed, auntie, this is not such a simple matter to attend to as it seems. The Indian grandmother positively refuses to let Eunice be moved.

She has kept the child hidden in these hills all her life, until she believes Eunice will be eaten up, or run away with, if once she allows her to go among white people."

"Nonsense!" sniffed Miss Sallie.

"It is all very well for you to say nonsense, Aunt Sallie, but you do not dream how obstinate this old woman is. She declares an Indian does not need treatment from a doctor. In the meantime, poor little Eunice's temperature is going up, and she is delirious from the fever. What shall we do? Poor Bab is feeling perfectly miserable."

"Take me to this obstinate old woman," said Miss Stuart, firmly.

"You?" cried Ruth, in astonishment.

"Certainly!" answered Aunt Sallie. "I _said_, '_take me_.'"