ially confined by the bonds, but his right hand he lifted,
with a gesture of immense self-satisfaction, and pointed at Hamilton.

"Indian brave; white man coward," he said, scowling scornfully.
"Long-Hair tell truth; white man lie, damn!"

Hamilton's countenance did not change its calm, cold expression.
Long-Hair gazed at him fixedly for a long moment, his eyes flashing
most concentrated hate and contempt. Then he tore the scalp from his
belt and flung it with great force straight toward the captive
Governor's face. It fell short, but the look that went with it did not,
and Hamilton recoiled.

At that moment Alice arrived. Her coming was just in time to interrupt
Clark, who had turned to the waiting platoon with the order of death on
his lips. She made no noise, save the fluttering of her skirts, and her
loud and rapid panting on account of her long, hard run. She sprang
before Long-Hair and faced the platoon.

"You cannot, you shall not kill this man!" she cried in a voice loaded
with excitement. "Put away those guns!"

Woman never looked more thrillingly beautiful to man than she did just
then to all those rough, stern backwoodsmen. During her flight her hair
had fallen down, and it glimmered like soft sunlight around her face.
Something compelling flashed out of her eyes, an expression between a
triumphant smile and a ray of irresistible beseechment. It took Colonel
Clark's breath when he turned and saw her standing there, and heard her
words.

"This man saved Lieutenant Beverley's life," she presently added,
getting better control of her voice, and sending into it a thrilling
timbre; "you shall not harm him--you must not do it!"

Beverley was astounded when he saw her, the thing was so unexpected, so
daring, and done with such high, imperious force; still it was but a
realization of what he had imagined she would be upon occasion. He
stood gazing at her, as did all the rest, while she faced Clark and the
platoon of riflemen. To hear his own name pass her quivering lips, in
that tone and in that connection, seemed to him a consecration.

"Would you be more savage than your Indian prisoner?" she went on,
"less grateful than he for a life saved? I did him a small, a very
small, service once, and in memory of that he saved Lieutenant
Beverley's life, because--because--" she faltered for a single breath,
then added clearly and with magnetic sweetness--"because Lieutenant
Beverley loved me, and because I loved hi