Presently the old woman led her out.  Allie saw a great number of tents, many horses and squaws and children, but few braves.  The encampment lay in a wide valley, similar to all the valleys of that country, except that it was larger.  A stream in flood swept yellow and noisy along the edge of the encampment.  The children ran at sight of Allie, and the women stared.  It was easy to see that they disapproved of her.  The few braves looked at her with dark, steady, unfathomable eyes.  The camp appeared rich in color—­in horses and trappings; evidently this tribe was not poor.  Allie saw utensils, blankets, clothing—­many things never made by Indians.

She was led to a big lodge with a tent adjoining.  Inside an old Indian brave, grizzled and shrunken, smoked before a fire; and as Allie was pushed into the tent a young Indian squaw appeared.  She was small, with handsome, scornful face and dark, proud eyes, gorgeously clad in elaborate beaded and fringed buckskin—­evidently an Indian princess or a chief’s wife.  She threw Allie a venomous glance as she went out.  Allie heard the old squaw’s grunting voice, and the young one’s quick and passionate answers.

There was nothing for Allie to do but await developments.  She rested, rubbing her sore wrists and ankles, thankful she had been left unbound.  She saw that she was watched, particularly by the young woman, who often walked to the opening to glance in.  The interior of this tent presented a contrast to the other in which she had been confined.  It was dry and clean, with floor of rugs and blankets; and all around hung beaded and painted and feathered articles, some for wear, and others for what purpose she could not guess.

The afternoon passed without further incident until the old squaw entered, manifestly to feed Allie, and tie her up as heretofore.  The younger squaw came in to watch the latter process.

Allie spoke to her and held out her bound hands appealingly.  This elicited no further response than an intent look.

Night came.  Allie lay awake a good while, and then she fell asleep.  Next morning she was awakened by an uproar.  Whistling and trampling mustangs, whoops of braves, the babel of many voices, barking of dogs, movement, bustle, sound—­all attested to the return of the warriors.  Allie’s heart sank for a moment; this would be the time of trial for her.  But the clamor subsided without any disturbance near her tent.  By and by the old squaw returned to attend to her needs.  This time on the way out she dropped a blanket curtain between the tent and the lodge.

Soon Indians entered the lodge, quite a number, with squaws among them, judging by their voices.  A harangue ensued, lasting an hour or more; it interested Allie, especially because at times she heard and recognized the quick, passionate utterance of the young squaw.

Soon Allie’s old attendant shuffled in, and unbound her, then, lifting the curtain she motioned to Allie to come out.  Allie went into the lodge.  An early sun lighted the place brightly.  It was full of Indians.  In the center stood a striking figure, probably a chief, tall and lean, with scars on his naked breast.  His face was bronze, with deep lines, somber and bitter, and cruel thin lips, and eyes that glittered like black fire.  His head had the poise of an eagle.