Part 2

"No, you won't, neither of you. You'll stay by me, now. If the great chief wants you again, I must have you where I can find you."

The girls looked at one another, but there was nothing to be gained by rebellion.

"Ni-ha-be," said Rita, "we can keep close together. They won't go fast, and we can look at the leaves all the way."

On an ordinary march a good many of the squaws would have had to go on foot and carry their pappooses, and perhaps heavy loads besides, but the orders of Many Bears prevented that this time. The poorest brave in camp had a pony provided for his wife and children, and as many more as were needed for his baggage, for the chief was in a hurry, and there was to be no straggling. His orders were to push on as fast as possible, until a safe place to encamp in should be found, or, rather, one that could be more easily defended than the exposed level they were leaving.

The idea of coming danger was spreading even among the squaws, and they were in as great a hurry as Many Bears. They did not know exactly what to be afraid of, but they were thoroughly alarmed for the swarm of little copper-colored children they had in charge.

Some ponies had more to carry, and some had less, but there was one poor little long-eared, patient-looking mule which had more than his share.

A very fat and dreadfully ugly squaw rode astride with a pappoose on her back, his round head popping out behind his mother's ragged locks. A twelve-year-old boy had climbed up in front, and his younger brother and sister clung on behind, so that the little mule was turned into a sort of four-footed omnibus.

It seemed, too, as if there were more wretched-looking dogs following after this forlorn mule than attended the ponies of any chief's family in the whole band.

"Look, Rita," said Ni-ha-be. "Look at old Too-many-Toes and her mule."

This squaw had a name of her own as well as the others, but it had not been given her for her beauty.

"Isn't she homely?" said Rita. "I wonder where the rest of her children are."

"I guess she's divided them around among her relations. There's enough of them to load another mule. Her husband'll never be rich enough to buy ponies. He's lazy."

"He doesn't beat her."

"He's too lazy for that. And he's afraid of her. I don't believe he's an Apache. Think of a brave afraid of his own squaw!"

There was something very bad in that, according to all Indian notions, but Rita only said,

"What would that mule do if she wanted him to run?"

Just then the shrill voice of Mother Dolores behind them shouted,

"I'm coming. They wanted to make me help pack."

The pride of the best cook in the band was seriously offended. She knew her dignity better, and she meant to assert it.

Silent and submissive as are all Indian women in the presence of braves or of white men, they make up for it all in the liberty they give their tongues among themselves. They can talk wonderfully fast, and say as many sharp things as may be necessary.

"Now, Rita, see if you can make the leaves tell you anything about Knotted Cord."

"He isn't in them. Nor Send Warning either."

"Look. They must be there."

Neither Steve Harrison nor Murray were to be found in the three magazines; Rita felt sure of that, but she turned the pages carefully, as they rode on side by side.

She came to something else, however, in the back of one of them which almost drove from her mind the face and form of Send Warning; Ni-ha-be also forgot the brown hair and handsome face of Knotted Cord.

"Oh, so many squaws!"

"All of them so tall, too. I wonder if pale-face squaws ever grow as tall as that? Look at the things on their heads."

"See!" exclaimed Rita. "All clothes! No squaws in them."

"Great chief. Ever so many squaws. Lose part of them. Keep their blankets."

Rita could not quite explain the matter, but she knew better than that.

The series of pictures which so excited and puzzled the two Indian maidens was simply what the publishers of the magazine advertised as "A Fashion Supplement."

There was enough there to have, I think, puzzled anybody.

Gradually they began to understand it a little, and their wonder grew accordingly.

"Are they not ugly?" said Ni-ha-be. "Think of being compelled to wear such things. I suppose if they won't put them on they get beaten. Ugh! All black things."

"No. Only black in the pictures. Many colors. It says so: 'red,' 'yellow'--all colors."

That was better, and Ni-ha-be could pity the poor white squaws a little less. Rita allowed her to take that magazine into her own keeping, but they ride mile after mile, and all she found in it worth studying was that wonderful array of dresses, with and without occupants. She had never dreamed of such things before, and her bright young face grew almost troubled in its expression.

Oh, how she did long just then for a look at a real pale-face woman, gotten up and ornamented like one of those pictured on the pages before her! She was learning a great deal more, indeed, than she had any idea of.

But to Rita had come a revelation, for the faces and the dresses had joined themselves in her mind with ever so many things that came floating up from her memory--things she had forgotten for so long a time that they would never have come back to her at all but for something like this.

Just now, while Ni-ha-be had the fashion plates, Rita was busy with the illustrations of "gold-mining," which had so awakened the interest of Many Bears. Not that she knew or cared anything about mines or ores or miners, but that some of those pictures also seemed to her to have a familiar look.

"Did I ever see anything like that?" she murmured. "The great chief says he did. It is not a lie. Maybe it will come back to me some day. I don't care for any more pictures now. I'll try and read some words."

That was harder work, but strange, new thoughts were beginning to come to Rita.

"You have not spoken to me," said Dolores at last. "Do the leaves talk all the while?"

"Look at these," said Ni-ha-be. "They are better than the one you cut out. There's only one squaw in that and a pappoose. Here are ever so many. And look at the funny little children. How those things must hurt them! The pale-faces are cruel to their families."

Dolores looked earnestly enough at the fashion plates. With all her ignorance, she had seen enough in her day to understand more of them than the girls could. Once, long ago, when the band of Many Bears had been near one of the frontier "military posts," where United States troops were encamped, she had seen the beautiful "white squaws" of the officers, in their wonderful dresses and ornaments, and she knew that some of these were much like them. She could even help Ni-ha-be to understand.

Rita had been silent a very long time. All the while the train had travelled nearly five miles. Now she suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, Ni-ha-be! Dolores!" And when they turned to look at her, her face was perfectly radiant with triumph and pleasure.

"What is it? Have you found either of them?"

"I can do it. I have done it."

"What have you done?"

"It is a story talk. Big lie about it all, such as the Apache braves tell at the camp-fire when they are too lazy to hunt. I have read it all."

"Is it a good talk?"

"Let me tell it. I can say it all in Apache words."

That was not the easiest thing in the world to do. It would have been impossible if the short story which Rita had found had not been of the simplest kind. It was only about hunters following chamois in the Alps and tumbling into snow-drifts, and being found and helped by great, wise, benevolent St. Bernard dogs.

There were mountains in sight of the girls now that helped make it real, and among them were big-horn antelopes as wild as the chamois and with very much the same habits. There were snow-drifts up there, too, for they could see the white peaks glisten in the sinking sun. It was all better than the talk of the braves around the camp-fires, and, besides, there were the pictures of the dogs and of the chamois.

Neither Ni-ha-be nor Dolores uttered a word until Rita had rapidly translated that "story talk" from beginning to end.

"Oh, Rita, are there any more talks like that?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Most of them are very long. Big words, too. More than I can hear."

"Let me see it."

The pictures of the great shaggy dogs and of the chamois were easy enough to understand. Ni-ha-be knew that she could see a real "big horn" at a greater distance than Rita. But how was it that not one word came to her of all the "story talk" Rita had translated from those little black "signs"? Ni-ha-be grew more and more jealous of her adopted sister.

Rita's prizes promised to be a source of a good deal of annoyance to her as well as pleasure and profit. On that day, however, they made the afternoon's ride across the rolling plain seem very short indeed.

Only a few warriors were to be seen when the order to halt was given, but they had picked out a capital place for a camp--a thick grove of trees on the bank of a deep, swift river. There were many scattered rocks on one side of the grove, and it was just the spot Many Bears had wanted to find. It was what army officers would call "a very strong position and easily defended."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

PET STOCK MARKET REPORT.

BY A. W. ROBERTS.

The report at the end of this article will enable any boy or girl who wishes to exchange pet stock to see at a glance the market valuation placed upon such things as young people would probably like to deal in.

In making up this report I have avoided the very high selling prices, and often the very low prices paid by dealers, but have taken the figures of dealers who are satisfied with a fair profit. Purchasers of pet stock will do well to bear in mind that prices vary greatly according to the season of the year, as, for instance, a month previous to the holidays the prices range the highest. During the hot midsummer months, when the young folks are in the country, the demand falls off greatly, so that dealers are forced to reduce the amount of stock on hand and the prices to the lowest figures.

The valuation of pet stock also varies according to the age, shape, color, and purity of breed, and the amount of intelligence or training possessed by the animal. The supply and demand also regulate the market price, as, for instance, I have known gold-fish of best size and color to be disposed of to dealers as low as two dollars per hundred in the months of June, July, and August, but during the months of October, November, and December the same quality of fish rose in price to ten and fifteen dollars per hundred. A caprice of fashion for any particular variety of animal or class of pet stock will often run up the price with dealers.

There is no reason why boys should complain of having nothing to do, when there are so many things that can be raised by them for the New York market that yield a fair profit, and often a large one. By clubbing together, some might raise white pigeons, for which there is so steady a demand and high prices paid. Or a pond might be constructed for raising golden carp, or gold-fish, or German carp. Just think of it: here is the United States government offering, through Professor Baird, thousands of German carp, which have been carefully bred, for free distribution to any persons who have a suitable pond or ponds in any part of the United States. When I was a boy there was hardly any demand for gold-fish, and the German carp was unknown in America; now there is a steady demand for the golden carp at six and eight dollars per hundred, and German carp sells readily at ten and fifteen cents a pound.

Think of all the books, papers, magazines, printing-presses, and scroll-saws that might be purchased with money earned by some such pleasant occupation!

What lots of fun could be had. How much could be learned about the natures and habits of the lower animals. When any of them might die they could be stuffed or set up, thus learning a lesson in taxidermy, or their skeletons might be prepared and set up, and a lesson on comparative anatomy learned. Also studies in pencil or India ink of animal life might be made. Then, again, the club could have a rabbit pie once in a while.

PRICES TO PURCHASERS. PRICES PAID BY DEALERS.

RABBITS, _common_, per pair $1.00 to $2.50 _Very young_, 50 cents; RABBITS, _fancy breeds_, _breeders_, $1 according to age and per pair. purity of breed, per pair } 3.00 " 15.00 No established price. GUINEA-PIGS, _common_, per pair 1.50 Per pair $0.50 to $0.60 GUINEA-PIGS, _all white_, " 2.00 " 0.75 " 1.00 GUINEA-PIGS, _African_, " 3.00 " 1.00 " 1.25 FERRETS, _English_, " 15.00 " 4.00 " 5.00 SQUIRRELS, _gray and black_, " 3.00 " 10.00 " 1.00 " 1.50 SQUIRRELS, _all white_, " 15.00 " 25.00 No established price. SQUIRRELS, _flying_, " 3.00 " 4.00 Per pair $1.50 SQUIRRELS, _small red_, " 2.00 " 0.75 to 1.00 CATS, _Maltese_ (males), each 5.00 Each 2.00 " 3.00 CATS, _Albinos, pink or blue eyes_, each 3.00 " 5.00 " 2.00 " 3.00 RATS, _white China, pink eyes_, per pair 1.50 Per pair 0.50 " 0.60 RATS, _piebald_, per pair 1.50 " 0.50 MICE, _white, pink eyes_, per pair 0.50 " 0.20 " 0.30 MICE, _piebald_, per pair 0.50 " 0.10 " 0.20 RACCOONS, each 4.00 " 5.00 No established price. NEWFOUNDLAND PUPS, each 10.00 " 15.00 There are no established GREYHOUNDS, English, " 10.00 " 25.00 prices for various GREYHOUNDS, _Italian_, " 10.00 " 30.00 breeds of dogs. Age, POMERANIAN OR SPITZ, " 5.00 " 15.00 purity of breed, color, TERRIERS, _Scotch and and intelligence regulate Skye_, each 5.00 " 30.00 market prices. TERRIERS, _black and tan_, each 5.00 " 30.00

PRICES TO PURCHASERS.

MOCKING-BIRDS, males, each $3.00 to $25.00 PIGEONS, _pure white common_, per pair 1.40 " 1.75 PIGEONS, _common_, per pair 0.25 " 0.30

_Dead Game._

QUAIL, per dozen $2.25 to $2.50 PARTRIDGE, per pair 1.00 " 1.50 SQUIRRELS, _gray, black, and red fox_, per pair 0.20 " 0.25 RABBITS, _wild_, per pair 0.50 " 0.60 OPOSSUMS No established price. RACCOONS No established price. TROUT, _wild_, per pound 20 cents FROGS' LEGS, _Canada style_, per pound 50 cents FROGS' LEGS, _Pennsylvania style_, per pound 60 cents SNAPPING-TURTLES, per pound 8 cents TERRAPIN, per dozen $12.00

A LITTLE DREAMER

This dear little Ethel, a dreamer is she, And sweet are her fancies as zephyrs of morn That ripple in summer-time over the sea, Or tangle themselves in the tassels of corn.

She knows what the fairies are talking about When tiptoe they poise on the rim of a flower; The snow-birds before her trip fearlessly out, And gossip away in the cold by the hour.

No poor little kitten comes mewing in vain To pitying Ethel for shelter and food. She flies from her prettiest castle in Spain To play with the baby, who will not be good.

She lives in a beautiful world of her own, And yet I have heard, and I'm sure it is true, This dear little dreamer has never been known To think of herself much; 'tis always of you.

And that's why we love her, and not for the gold Of her loose waving hair nor the blue of her eyes, Though the one is more precious than jewels untold, And the other was borrowed right out of the skies.

And oft as she travels to Nobody's Land-- A wide sunny country, where all things are fair-- Whoever needs Ethel has only to stand With a word and a smile just in front of her chair.

ON SKATES.

BY SHERWOOD RYSE.

It may almost be said of the children of Friesland, a province of Holland, that they learn to skate before they learn to walk. As soon as the Frisian baby can stand upright, if it is winter, the skates are fastened to his little feet, and he is launched upon the glassy surface of the canal. At six years old he--or it may be _she_, for the girls are treated in just the same manner--is probably an expert skater, and for the rest of his life steel runners are to him almost as familiar a means of getting about as his own feet. The Frieslander, we are told, goes to market on skates, goes to church on skates, and goes love-making on skates, and when he has won his bride the newly wedded couple are escorted to their home by a gay torch-light procession of steel-shod neighbors.

In Holland the races on the ice are regarded as a great festival. Prizes are given, and the winners are heroes for the time. Women sometimes join the men in the races, and not seldom they carry off the prize. Two young women once won a race of thirty miles in two hours, beating several men. Imagine a couple of comely Dutch girls flying along at the speed of a railroad train between short stops, and keeping up the pace for two hours!

And what sport is there to compare with skating on a perfect piece of ice, frozen by a couple of nights' severe cold, and quite free from snow? This quickly formed ice is by far the best, for not only is it the smoothest, but it is also the safest kind of ice. It may crack, perhaps, and bend, but it is so elastic that there is little danger of its breaking. Hark to the ever-changing hum of a hundred pairs of steel blades upon the shining surface of the pond, now swelling, and now almost dying away in the clear, biting air! And mingled with it merry laughter and shouts, with every now and again a half-frightened, half-playful little scream, as some too daring beginner "comes to grief." It is a poor spirit indeed that is not fired by sounds like these when Winter first lays his iron grasp on water and on land.

The art of skating has been brought to such perfection that mere speed is almost despised among our best performers, who devote themselves to that graceful variety of the art known as "figure skating." Among the Northern peoples, however, from whom we originally learned to skate, speed and distance still hold their own. The reason of this is that in those countries skating is necessary for travelling, especially in Holland, which is literally cut up by canals that are frozen for several months every winter. Among us skating is generally done on ponds, and careering round and round a pond, however fast one may go, soon becomes tiresome.

But although we have given up long-distance skating for figures, the fastest time in which a mile is said to have been skated was done by a certain William Clark, of Madison, Wisconsin, who covered the distance in the wonderfully short space of one minute and fifty-six seconds. It is difficult to believe this, and but little less so to credit the "record" of an English skater named Tebbutt, who is reported to have skated a measured mile in two minutes and four seconds.

In France they attempt to teach people to swim by making them lie across a narrow table, and strike out in the most approved manner. It is not recorded, however, that any one thus taught ever entered the water with any confidence in his ability to swim, and it is probable that a Frenchman thus taught would swim about as well as a boy or girl would skate the first time they went on the ice after reading about it. Skating, indeed, like swimming and many other things, can be learned only by practice, but at the same time a few hints may help the beginner over the most slippery places; and if he learns what _not_ to do, he has learned a great deal. Here are a few useful hints:

Do not fall. At the same time do not give up trying because you do fall, or for fear of falling. Young bones carry light weights, and falls do not hurt if they are done properly. It is the backward falls that hurt and are really dangerous. Keep the body slightly bent forward; hold the elbows down by the sides; and, above all, when you feel you are losing your balance, do not throw up your arms and wrench yourself wildly to try and keep your balance. Let balance go to the winds, if it must go, and then you may fall forward on hands and knees with all the grace you are master of. It will not be much, perhaps; but never mind.

As soon as you have learned to skate forward, and can travel at a fair rate of speed, you will want to begin cutting figures. Probably in your first attempts you will "cut a figure" that will make people laugh. Let them laugh, and laugh with them. Everything must have a beginning.

Your first figure is one that does not amount to much by itself. In fact, it amounts to just nothing. It is O. When you can make a fairly correct O on one foot, or, better still, on each foot, you will be getting on capitally. But if O amounts to little by itself, make another O on the top of it, and you will have the figure 8. Strike out boldly with one foot, leaning well over to the side so that you make a rapid curve. As soon as the circle is nearly completed, bring the left foot to the front, and pointing it well to the left make another circle as before. You will not make the second circle so easily as the first, but after a little practice you will succeed in making a very fair figure of 8.

This is the only figure that can be made altogether on the inside edge of the blade, and that is not the best way to make it, although it is the easiest. Before you go any farther you must learn the "outside edge." After skating a few yards at a good pace, bring both your feet parallel to one another, and as you skim along without effort, lean your weight first to one side and then to the other. You will find yourself moving along in a serpentine course, and one of your feet will be resting on the _outside_ edge of its skate, and the other on the _inside_ edge. Lift up the foot that is doing inside edge, and see how far you can go on the other foot alone. When you feel that you are losing your balance, or coming to a stop, put the other foot down, and push off again, repeating the outside edge trick with the other foot. After some practice you will be able to start off on outside edge altogether, and by throwing your weight to the side of the foot you are on, you will soon be able to make circles on the outside edge.

Outside edge is the key to figure skating, and having learned that, you may try the "three." This may be done in two ways: (1) a half-stroke inside edge forward, a little turn, and then a stroke outside backward, or (2) outside forward, the turn, and then inside backward. The turn in the middle of the "three" is not easy to describe, but it is not difficult to do. If you think of the shape of the figure, you will soon get the knack of changing from one edge of the skate to the other, and you will never forget it.