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The Blackfeet, at one time the strongest and most dangerous tribe in the Northwest, was composed of three bands, Blackfeet, Bloods, and Piegans. The picture shows a small party of the last, probably the advance-guard of a hunting-party.

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Two plainsmen have suddenly been warned by the shadows of a war-party. The horse, whose ears, eyes, and nose are ever alert, misses few of nature's secrets. He is very apt to call to his passing friend. The plainsmen know this and have dismounted to hold the nostrils of their mounts.

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A mountain man has shot an elk. As often happens, the animal has carried the lead some distance, but the hunter has tracked him to where he fell.

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Two Royal Northwest Mounted Police have arrested a pair of horse-thieves and are disarming them. No prisoner is considered safe while wearing a weapon.

NANCY: HER LIFE AND DEATH

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By Louis Dodge

Author of "Bonnie May," "Tawi Tawi," etc.)

HERE is a shadow in the house; there is an unwonted silence. The caretaker avoids my glance. There is a matter which we do not speak of, though it is in both our minds. Nancy is dead.

It does not seem possible that the death of a little dog could alter things so. Yesterday she was alive and well. To-day she lies in her grave in the garden.

Yesterday was Sunday. Just before nightfall I was out in the garden planning how I should transplant a number of young fruit-trees which are in the wrong places. It was a cold, overcast evening in November. The garden, all its visible life gone for the year, was desolate.

The caretaker came in at the side-gate, Nancy following at his heels. It was our habit—the habit of men much alone to talk to her as if she were a child. The caretaker said: "Nancy, I think you'd better go into the basement."

He wanted to release Si Slocomb from his chain under the porch. Si Slocomb is a larger, younger dog, still very boisterous, though he is two years old, and his antics often worried and even offended Nancy. I was glad to have her go into the basement, which is warm and dry. Indeed, she liked to be there. Yet I observed that when the caretaker opened the door for her she turned her head long enough to give me a swift, troubled glance. Then the eagerly obedient little creature disappeared.

I never saw her alive again.

A neighbor called a moment later and I went into the house. I sat talking for perhaps fifteen minutes. My conscience bothered me a little because it seemed necessary to leave Nancy in the basement; she liked so much to be present when there were visitors. But there seemed no help for this. Of late she had developed a habit of attacking Rags, the. feeble little old dog who has the run of the house. It seemed that the sight of his infirmities enraged her.

The caretaker left the house while I was entertaining my visitor, but he soon returned. I thought he seemed worried. I heard him go down into the basement. I supposed he did this to look after the furnace. Presently he returned and stood in the doorway looking at me oddly. I could see that it was one of those occasions when he needed my countenance and support. "What is it, Jack?" I asked.

He could scarcely speak for a moment, and then he said in an incredulous tone: "Nancy is dead!"

I hurried down into the basement. She lay stretched out just at the foot of the steps on the granitoid floor. I touched her; she was warm and limp. I could not believe she was dead. I took her up into my hands. Her head hung, her eyes were unseeing. I held her a moment, almost praying that she might know me, that she might understand I was with her at the last. I think I spoke to her, for the caretaker, standing over me, said gently: "Nancy is dead."

Although she was so dear to me, I put her down in silence. It is not my way to make a fuss. I stood taking in the situation. It seemed to me that perhaps she had tried to come up the stairs, to let me know of her cross, of her dark hour. She had not called to me, I was certain. The floor separating the basement from the rooms above is thin; sounds carry from one place to the other easily. But it was always her way to bear her burdens alone. She was a creature of incredible courage. Still, I wished she could have let me know. It would have comforted me to be with her.

The caretaker said: "Come away. I'll bury her in the morning before you are up. You'll need not know where she is."

I stood looking down at her, still with a certain lack of comprehension. Then I said: "No, we'll not do it that way. shall want to help bury her. I shall want to know where she is."

Together we buried her in the morning.

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