OSITO.

his wigwam?” asked the chief, nowise abashed, in
Spanish —a language which many of the Southern
Utes speak as fluently as their own.

The great captain had expected a request for a
biscuit; he, therefore, was naturally surprised at be-
ing asked fora baby. With.an effort he mustered
together his Spanish phrases and managed to reply
that he had seen no pappoose.

“Me pappoose lost,” said one of the squaws
brokenly. And there was so much distress in her
voice that the captain, forgetting instantly all about
the slight depredations of his dusky neighbors, vol-

 

143

was down. Hastily he approached, bent over, and
peeped in. And certainly in the whole of his ad-
venturous life the captain was never more taken by
surprise; for there, crouched in one corner, was that
precious Indian infant.

Yes, true it was, that all those massive timbers,
all that ponderous mass of rock, had only availed
to capture one very small Ute pappoose. At the
thought of it, the builder of the trap was astounded.
He laughed aloud at the absurdity. In silence he
threw off rock and lid and seated himself on the
edge of the open trap. Captor and captive then

 

unteered to aid them in their search for the miss-
ing child,

All that night, for it was by this time nearly dark,
the hills flared with pine torches and resounded
with the shrill cries of the squaws, the whoops of
the warriors, the shouts of the captain; but the
search was fruitless. ; :

This adventure drove the bear-trap from its build-
er’s mind, and it was two days before it occurred
to him to go there in quest of captive bears,

Coming in view of it he immediately saw the lid
j

“WHAT ARE YOU CALLED, LITTLE ONE?” ASKED THE CAPTAIN.

 

gazed at each other with gravity. The errant in-
fant’s attire consisted of a calico shirt of gaudy
hues, a pair of little moccasons, much frayed, and a

red flannel string. This last was tied about his

straggling hair, which fell over his forehead like the
shaggy mane of a bronco colt and veiled, but could
not obscure, the brightness of his black eyes.

He did not cry; in fact; this small stoic never
even whimpered, but he held the bacon, or what re-
mained of it, clasped tightly to his breast and gazed
at his captor in silence. Glancing at the bacon,