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In the Lodges of the Blackfeet. 
XXV.—Diana’s Marriage. 
May found ts again installed in the little adobe 
in Fort Benton, but not for long. Berry was 
anxious to be doing something, and, learning 
that Fort Conrad was for sale, we bought it. 
This place, as I have previously mentioned, was 
built at the upper end of a large bottom on the 
Marias River, where the Dry Fork joins the 
larger stream. It was not much of a fort, just 
two rows of connecting log cabins, with stables 
and a corral at the west end of them, the whole 
thing forming three sides of a square. It was 
a good location, however, for, besides the trade 
in robes we expected to get, it was on the trail 
between Fort Benton and Fort Macleod, and the 
travel and freighting over it was heavy in the 
time. The women especially 
summer were 
pleased with the purchase. They had regretted 
leaving our home on Back Fat Creek, but now 
they had another one, further away from the 
where’ the were warmer 
“Here,” said Crow Woman, “my 
beans and corn and squash will surely grow. 1 
am glad.” 
“This is happiness,” Nat-ah’-ki said, as we sat 
mountains, summers 
and longer. 
in the shade of a big cottonwood by the river’s 
“See the beautiful trees above there, and 
below, and the pretty island with its young tim- 
edge. 
And on all sides the high, steep hills—pro- 
tection from the winter winds.” 
ber. 
“Yes,” I said, “it is a pretty place. I like it 
better than I did the other one.” 
“Say this for me,’ she continued, leaning 
over and drawing me to her. ‘Say this: We 
will live here always; live here until we die, and 
they bury us out across there where the big 
trees grow.” 
I said it, and added thereto, “If it be possible 
for us to do so,” watching the expectant, pleased 
expression of her eyes suddenly change to one 
of pain. 
“Oh, why,” she asked, “why did you spoil it 
all? Don’t you know that you can do anything 
you wish to?” 
“No, I don’t,” I replied. “No one can always 
do only that he wishes to do. But let us not 
worry; we will try to live here always.” 
“Yes,” she sighed, “we will try; we will have 
courage. Oh, good Sun, kind Sun! Pity us. 
Let us live here in peace and happiness to 
great age.” 
Even then Berry and I had some idea of the 
changes that were to take place, but we did not 
dream that they were so near at hand. We 
looked for the old, free, careless times to last 
for fifteen or twenty years at least. 
Unannounced, without having written a line of 
their intention to visit us, Ashton and Diana 
drove in from Fort Benton one evening, having 
arrived! there by steamboat the day before. 
Nothing could have pleased us more than to 
welcome them back. Nat-ah’-ki actually cried 
from joy as she clasped her “daughter” in her 
arms. We noticed instantly a great change in 
Ashton. We could no longer call him Never 
Laughs, for he began joking and laughing be- 
fore he got out of the wagon; there was a merry 
glint in his eyes; he ran around like a boy, 
throwing things out recklessly. The sad, solemn, 
silent, slow-moving Ashton had been, as it were, 
reincarnated; and it did us good to see the 
change in him; it made us joyous with him. 
And Diana, ah, there was a woman, if you 
please! Words fail me.’ I cannot describe her. 
Diana she was in features and figure, but the 
spirit within was that of the noble, human, lov- 
ing, gentle woman—all pure, all good. Who 
could believe that this was the thin, frail, wild- 
eyed little thing Ashton had rescued and brought 
to our lodge not so many years since? Could 
this lovely, accomplished, refined woman have 
been born in a lodge and trailed with her peo- 
ple over the plains in pursuit of the moving 
herds? It seemed impossible. 
What a happy evening we passed. How 
vivacious and affectionate Diana was, sitting 
now with Nat-ah’-ki, again with the old woman, 
clasping them lovingly in her arms, inquiring 
into all the little incidents of their daily lives. 
Education, travel, a. knowledge of the great 
world had not turned her head; the people of 
her blood were as dear to her as ever. She 
told me that it had been her daily practice to 
speak over in the quiet of her room so much 
Blackfoot, to translate a verse or two of Eng- 
lish into it, lest she forget her mother’s tongue. 
I cast about in my mind for the cause of the 
change in Ashton. “Perhaps,” I thought, “‘he 
has fallen in love with Diana; is going to marry 
her; he may already have married her.” I 
looked at her hand; she wore neither engage- 
ment nor wedding ring. 

It was late when we 
separated, Diana going with the old woman to 
their room, Ashton to a spare one we had. 
When we were alone, Nat-ah’-ki came over, 
leaned against me, and sighed heavily. “What 
is it?’ I asked. “Why are you sad?” 
“Oh!” she exclaimed, “I am so disappointed. 
This long, long time I have been praying for it 
yet it has not come to pass. Why doesn’t he 
marry my daughter? Is it that he thinks she 
is not good enough for him? That he does not 
love her? How can he help loving one sv 
handsome, so good, so true-hearted?” 
“Little woman,” I said, ‘don’t be impatient. 
I think everything will come right. Have you 
not noticed how different he is—how he laughs, 
how bright his eyes are? I am sure that he 
loves her; that if he has not asked her to marry 
’ 

Jeelisyde 
him, he will when he thinks that the right time 
has come.” . 
Little did we think as we sat and talked, how 
near that time was, and what an unexpected and 
dramatic event would lead up to it. ’Twas a 
few evenings later. Ashton was lazily smoking, 
sitting by the table in my room. There was a 
bit of fire in the hearth, occasionally flaring up 
and illuminating the rude walls, again dying 
away, leaving everything shadowy and dim. 
Diana and Nat-ah’-ki sat together on a couch; 
I lay stretched out on the bed. We were all 
silent, each one occupied with his thoughts. A 
team and wagon were driven in to the little 
square outside, and through the open door we 
heard a silvery, anxious voice ask, “Can you 
tell me, sir,” if Mr. Ashton is stopping here?” 
Ashton sprang from his chair, made one or 
two strides, stopped, considering something for 
a moment, then returned and resumed his seat. 
“Yes, madam,” Berry was saying, “he is here; 
you will find him over in that room.” 
She did not notice us as she hurried in. The 
flame leaped up, revealing Ashton’s face, pale 
and stern. She hurried over to him and placed 
a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, my dear,’ she 
cried, “I’ve found you at last. I wrote several 
times. Did you never get my letters? Oh, I’m 
free; free, do you hear? I’ve got my divorce; 
I’ve come to tell you that it was all a mistake; 
to beg your forgiveness; to’’-—— 
“Diana, child, come here,’ said Ashton, 
quietly, interrupting her. The girl arose and 
walked over to him, placed her hand in the one 
he held out to her appealingly. The woman— 
and she was a tall, handsome one, too; fair- 
haired, blue-eyed—stood looking at them in as- 
tonishment, in fear, her hands clasped convul- 
sively on her bosom. 
“Diana, my dear,” Ashton continued, looking 
lovingly down into her face, “will you marry me?” 
“Yes, Chief,’ she replied, clearly, firmly. 
pees 
He arose, and put his arm around her, facing 
the other woman, “Sadie,” he said, “I forgive 
you all that you have done to me—your broken 
promises, your unfaithfulness, the years of mis- 
ery I passed in trying to forget. I have found 
peace and happiness at last, thanks to this dear 
one by my side. I bid you good night, and good 
by. No doubt you will be returning to town 
early in the morning.” 
With his arm still around her waist, he and 
Diana passed out of the room. The woman 
sank into the chair he had vacated, bent 
“over on the table, burying her face in 
her arms, and sobbed _ heart-brokenly. Nat- 
ah’-ki and .I arose, and Jalsommletcmeine 
room, tiptoeing across the floor and out into 
the night. “Oh!” the little woman exclaimed, 
when we were well bevond the fort. “Oh!” 
