As near as we could find out, her name was Chitto, and she lived with
her parents at Lac Qui Parle. She told us that there were several
families in a spot by themselves, and that day they had secured a
quantity of strong drink, of which they were partaking very freely.
At such times Indians are dangerous, and Little Chitto was terrified
almost out of her senses. She fled through the storm and the darkness,
not caring where she went, but only anxious to get away from the
dreadful scene.
Entering, without any intention on her part, the path in the woods, she
followed it until she saw in the distance the glimmer of the light in
our window, when she hastened to the house and asked for admission.
I need scarcely say it was gladly granted. My mother removed the damp
clothes from the little Sioux girl, and replaced them with some warm,
dry ones belonging to me. At the same time she gave her hot, refreshing
tea, and did every thing to make her comfortable.
I removed the little moccasins from the wondering Chitto's feet, kissed
her dark cheeks, and, as I uttered expressions of pity, though in an
unknown tongue, I am quite sure that they were understood by Chitto, who
looked the gratitude she could not express.
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