ndian lies upon his blankets,
and he lives with the squaw always. They all become squaw-men. Never was
there such peace for the Indian."

Nevil had drawn his peaceful picture with care; also the tail of his eye
told him that his companion was listening. And his movements, every now
and then, had in them something of the spasmodic movements of a chained
wild beast. This lithe youth had certain resemblance to the puma. He
seemed to burn with a restless craving spirit. The puma never ceases to
seek his prey. This man would be the same were he once to begin.

"Yes. You say well," he observed moodily, "we are all squaw-men. The white
squaws love braves, you say. I know all squaws love braves. The squaws of
our people will soon spit in our faces."

"You have no squaw to do that," observed Nevil, bending over and pushing
the fire together.

"No."

"You are chief. You should have many."

"Yes."

"Then give the word to your people and you can have them."

"I do not want them--yet."

Nevil looked round. The chief turned to the fire uncertainly. His fierce
eyes were half veiled.

"This Rosebud, she was for me," he went on. "She is fair as the summer
sky. Her eyes are like the stars, and her laugh is like the ripple of the
waters when the sun and the wind make play with them. She is so fair that
no squaw can compare with her. Even Wanaha is as night to day."

"You cannot have her. She is for the man who killed your father."

The young chief leapt to his feet with a cry that told of a spirit which
could no longer be restrained. And he towered threateningly over the
undisturbed wood-cutter.

"But I will!" he cried vehemently, while his eyes flashed in the dying
light of the fire. "You are my white brother, and to you I can say what is
in my thoughts. This squaw, I love her. I burn for her! She is with me
night and day. I will have her, I tell you! There shall be no peace till
my father is avenged. Ha, ha!" And the ferocity of that laugh brought a
smile to the hidden lips of the listening man.

He looked up now, and his words came thoughtfully.

"You are a great chief, Little Black Fox," he said. "But, see, there is no
need to go on the war-path. Sit, like those wise councilors of yours. It
is good to pow-wow."

The headstrong youth sat down again, and the pow-wow went forward. It was
daylight again when Nevil returned to Wanaha. For Indian pow-wows are slow
moving, ponderous things, and Little Black Fox was no bet