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"Come in and rest," she said. Broken Bow did not understand her language, but Cold Maker, who understands all tribes, said, "We are cold. Will you let us sit by your fire?" It is dreary waiting. No sleep comes to her eyes; she barely moves; the dogs slumber drowsily, and moan and start in their sleep, "fighting their battles o'er again," it may be, or anticipating future warfare. Slowly, ominously, the clock strikes twelve. Two hours have slipped into eternity; midnight is at hand! "It was for you," she says, hanging her head. "I thought if I could do something to make you happier, you might learn to love me a little!" "It won't be her fault; but of course her people will object, which amounts to the same thing. She can't go against her people, you know.".