the result of his missionary sermon, and there was peace and plenty in Sam's home for a long time.

That was an effective sermon, for Sam was never allowed to want after that day. He was able to do a few chores, but not sufficient to make a living. Minnie became the cowboys' favorite and Jake's protégé, and she was well provided for with so many benefactors. The mavrocks were given to her whenever any were found upon the round-up, and some of the boys occasionally brought her a lamb, so that in a short time she had quite a band of cattle and a goodly-sized flock of sheep.

*****

One morning before sunrise, in the early autumn, a solitary traveller was seen riding hurriedly toward the mountains, apparently on some mission. He stopped to rest his horse and partake of some food, and then he continued his journey. As he rode he sang occasionally a few snatches of song. He was well laden, and seemed to be going a long distance. He entered one of the mountain passes, and when he had reached the top of a foot-hill from which he could command a wide view of the country below, he alighted, and took a survey of the plains. Having glanced around and feasted his soul upon the beauties of nature, he took off his hat, knelt upon the ground and prayed. What a manly countenance he wore, and how striking was the attitude of this noble man! It was Jake, the Warden of the Plains.

At a gathering of cowboys where he had preached the day before, he bade them good-bye, saying that he was going west, as many settlers were now coming to the country, and they were getting parsons to take care of them. He felt constrained to seek out the cowboys and old-timers farther west, so he had decided to leave his old mission-field.

Several of his friends protested, but Jake was firm. Lest there might be a demonstration in his favor he had left early in the morning.

The last we heard of Jake was that he was doing pioneer work among the miners in the Kootenay country, and helping many toward a nobler life and deeper devotion to the truth.

Upon the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains there are many hearts that remember with joy the quaint sermons of the cowboy preacher, and some are living better lives to-day in the shanties because they cherish the teaching of the stalwart Warden of the Plains.

ASOKOA, THE CHIEF'S DAUGHTER.

Asokoa was the beautiful daughter of a chief of one of the tribes of the Blackfoot Confederacy. She was admired not only for her personal attractions, but quite as much for her gentle disposition and winning ways.

The Fish Eater's band had gone south to hunt the buffalo, and were encamped on the bank of the muddy Missouri. These warriors were famous for their prowess, and though they were occasionally attacked by the Crow Indians, and had some of their horses stolen, they were not afraid of their enemies. They were well equipped with guns and cartridges, and felt that they could easily defeat any foe of equal numbers who molested them.

It was during this hunting expedition that in a beautifully painted buffalo-skin lodge an Indian babe was born. The women flocked to the old chief's lodge when the medicine-woman announced that it had a new occupant, but when they were told the baby was a girl they grieved. The sad conditions of their own lives made them feel keenly for the child who, if her life were spared, must bear the same burdens and endure the same weary, monotonous existence of toil and misery as they. The beauty of the babe as it grew, however, pleased them so much that they forgot the sorrow of the future in the joy of the present. She was fairer than the other babes in the camp, and this sent a thrill to the hearts of the women. They loved the maidens who were fair, or hated them when they grew jealous of their charms. The babe thrived and grew lovelier day by day, its jet-black hair and eyes enhancing the beauty and fairness of the face.

It was evening when the chief returned from his hunting expedition. The mother had prepared the choice pieces of buffalo meat for his meal, and waited anxiously for the moment when he should ask for the child; but he entered silently and without any greeting, as was the Indian custom. He was esteemed a great chief and had to maintain his dignity, therefore could not condescend to notice his wife and children even after a long absence.

Taking his accustomed seat opposite the lodge door, the food was placed before him on the ground, and, as he lay half reclining he partook of it heartily, but without betraying hunger or haste. After supper the old men of the camp dropped in one by one to learn the success of his expedition, and to talk over matters that were interesting to them all.

The little swinging hammock made of an old blanket thrown over two ropes that were fastened to the lodge poles—the ends of the blanket so placed inside that the weight of its occupant might hold it down—contained the tiny stranger.

The babe was hidden snugly within a moss-bag. This moss-bag was richly ornamented, and embroidered with beads and colored porcupine quills. It was closed at the bottom, tapering to a point, and laced up after the babe was placed in the soft moss with which it was lined. The bag fitted closely about the head and neck, leaving only the face exposed. When the mother is tired carrying her child she rests the moss-bag upright against the wall, or hangs it up from the side of the lodge with the babe in it. When she goes to visit friends at a distance she rides on horseback in the same fashion as a man, and straps the moss-bag with its occupant to the horn of the saddle or slings it over her back. When she walks the invariable custom is to carry the babe on her back, well up on the shoulders. Some of these mossbags are very handsomely ornamented, the Indian mothers being as proud of them as the fair daughters of the civilized race are of the tasteful, dainty clothing of their children.

This particular moss-bag was very often filled with dry, soft moss, that the child might be comfortable and happy in its dainty nest. On the night of the chief's return it had been more than usually well arranged and laid in the hammock.

The large pipe was prepared, the tobacco and kinni-kinnick brought out, and after the chief had finished his meal the pipe was filled, lighted and passed around from left to right. Each member of the company took a few strong whiffs, some of the old men swallowing the last one and expelling the smoke through their nostrils. The evening was passed in animated conversation, the chief leading and the others listening patiently, adding to the general interest by uttering a few words of approval. When the conversation ended the guests retired quietly, and the old chief, after taking a peep at the sleeping babe, turned on his side and sought repose; but as he lay on his hard couch a smile of satisfaction played on his features—the stern countenance of the warrior had relaxed under the influence of an awakened love for the little child.

The old man's heart had been steeled against sympathy and love; he had lived for so many years in the midst of war and crime, and had witnessed such acts of cruelty committed against his kindred by war parties from other tribes, or marauding bands of white men, that his heart was hardened. He seldom smiled; the joyous spirit of his youth had departed, and left him old and sad.

When quite a youth he had resolved to devote his life to the service of the gods, and for a long time he enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing he was doing right. Then came a time of famine and sickness in the tribe, during which the people died in great numbers and food was very scarce. The people prayed, but no answer came to their prayers; then they plunged into all sorts of wickedness, heedless of the evil that was sure to follow.

After he was elected a chief he had been subjected to many jealousies by those who had professed