d formed
her own opinion, and, being of the blood of the chief, she probably
understood him better than this white man did. But whatever she really
thought no word of it escaped her.

Another silence fell. Again it was the man who broke it.

"That Jim Crow is very active. He comes and goes all day. He interviews
Little Black Fox whenever he pleases. He's a two-faced rascal. Do you
know, it was he who brought the news of relief to the farm. And what's
more, he came in with the soldiers. I always seem to see him about. Once I
thought he was watching my movements. I wonder why?"

The man drooped dejectedly as he tried to unravel this fresh tangle. Why
was Jim Crow shadowing him? In the interests of the Indians? Again he
pulled out his watch. And the woman beside him saw that his hand was
shaking as he held it out to the light of the stove.

It was time to hitch up his horses, he said. Yet they were not starting
until dawn, and it still wanted a full hour to the time.

Wanaha sat up, and Nevil moved about amongst the litter of their
belongings. There was coffee on the stove and food on the table. He helped
himself to both, bolting meat and drink in a nervous, hasty manner. Wanaha
joined him. She ate sparingly, and then began to gather their goods
together.

Nevil turned to her. He was preparing to fetch the horses which were
picketed out on the prairie. He was in better mood now. Action restored in
him a certain amount of confidence.

"It will be good to get away, my Wana," he said, for a moment laying one
hand upon her shoulder.

The woman looked up into his mean face with a world of love in her
profound eyes.

"It good to be with you--anywhere, my Nevil," she said, in her quiet way.

The man turned to the door.

He raised the latch and threw it open. He stood speechless. A panic was
upon him; he could not move, he could not think. Little Black Fox was
standing in the doorway, and, behind him, two of his war-councilors
leaning on their long, old-fashioned rifles.

Without a word, the chief, followed by his two attendants, stepped within.
The door was closed again. Then Little Black Fox signed to Wanaha for a
light. The squaw took the oil-lamp from a shelf and lit it, and the dull,
yellow rays revealed the disorder of the place.

The chief gazed about him. His handsome face was unmoved. Finally he
looked into the face of the terror-stricken renegade. Nevil was tall, but
he was dwarfed by the magnificent carr