Romantic missionary work among the red Indians will soon be a thing ofthe past. Civilisation is reaching this people, and the iron horserushes and shrieks where the Indian trail was once the only pathway.The picturesque garb is fast disappearing, and store clothes, often toosoon transformed into rags anything but picturesque, have robbed, theIndian of the interest that once clung to him.
g up and lifting the rifle to my shoulder, I waited until the intruder's hand had found the latch. Then the door swung open and there he stood; a very tall man, clearly outlined in the starry night.
My first grim resolve was to fire at once. Then there came the thought: "It is a terrible thing suddenly to send a soul into eternity. Perhaps he is not a horse thief. He may be some lone wanderer on the prairies, who, seeing this old barn, desires to get under its shelter out of the heavy dews. You have him covered with your rifle; even if he is a desperate horse thief bent on mischief, ere he can draw his weapons, you can easily drop him."
These thoughts must have flashed through my brains very rapidly for the man had not yet entered the barn when I had decided on my course of action.
So, while keeping him covered with my rifle, and with my hand upon the trigger, I shouted:
"It's only Matthew. Surely you ought to know me by this time."
Instead of an enemy,
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