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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
Isleta, stopped at the Altar of the Great Spring for one last prayer, and then turned her eyes to the hills. Blazing in the fierce light of the noonday sun, they seemed to beckon her, and to dare her to brave their dangers. She went on. The cactus held forth to her its spiny arms and seemed to mock her. But still she persisted. Something within her told her that she was going in the right direction and that
A weird cry came to her as she crossed the first range and started down the other side. It was the cry of a man — that of an Indian, and of an enemy. Again — again — there came the war-whoop of the Apaches. The Little Stranger started forward. Far to her right she saw a waving, hurrying line of men, who dodged here and there among the tumbled rocks, shouting, singing now and then, and shooting their arrows toward where the rising hills made a series of caves. Instinctively, Little Stranger knew. Hiding herself as best she could, clinging to the side of the ledge, she rushed forward. Again the war-cry. A spent arrow struck the rocks above her and fell harmlessly at her side. Then there came something which caused her breath to leave her lungs, and her arms to stretch spasmodically, forward :
The Death Song of the Pueblo— and in the voice of the Great Brother !
A lithe Apache faced her, but the Little Stranger did not falter. There was a struggle. Some way, she strained her fingers around his throat
THE SUN PRIEST OF THE
and clutched them tight. Some way, she tripped him and, leaping over the fallen body, ran on.
Arrows sang about her. She did not heed them. Dazedly, she saw the faces of men stretched on the ground in front of the caves, and recognized them as braves of the Great Brother 's band. The cries from the distance redoubled. Little Stranger saw an arrow speed forth from a little cleft in the rocks, and, with all her strength, she ran there.
"Taoa!" she called, "Taoa!— Taoa!"
Two great arms reached forth and dragged her to safety. A husky voice answered hers:
"You've come — here?"
She started to answer, then stopped. She looked at the staring faces about her, and, instinctively, she knew the story : the attack by a wandering band of Apaches, the escape to the cave, the killing of those who sought water— and then slow death thru thirst. Hurriedly she swung the water-basket from her head and pressed it for a moment to the lips of the man she loved. Then, from one to another she went, dispensing that which would give them new life to stave off the attack of the men without. The band had dwindled. Five now remained where fifteen had been before. Outside, hidden in the sage and the cactus, a band of a half hundred awaited.
"Some one must go — back to the city ! ' ' urged the Little Stranger.
"We've tried," was the answer, and there came a stoical little smile with it. "There "
TELLS THE STORY SKY-STONE