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ke Susie's impassioned defense in vain. Why he did not, he was not himself sure. Perhaps it was because he liked the feeling of power, of knowing that he held the life of the despised bug-hunter in the hollow of his hand; or perhaps it was because it would serve his purpose better to make the accusation later. One thing was certain, however, and that was that he had not held his tongue through any consideration for McArthur. VI THE GREAT SECRET It was the day they buried White Antelope that Smith approached Yellow Bird, a Piegan, who was among the Indians paying visits of indefinite length to the MacDonald ranch. "Eddie" Yellow Bird, he was called at the Blackfoot mission where he had learned to read and write--though he would never have been suspected of these accomplishments, since to all appearances he was a "blanket Indian." Smith spoke the Piegan tongue almost as fluently as his own, so he and Yellow Bird quickly became _compadres_, relating to each other stories of their prowess, of horses they had run off, of cattle they had stolen, and hinting, Indian fashion, with significant intonations and pauses, at crimes of greater magnitude. "How is your heart to-day, friend? Is it strong?" "Weak," replied Yellow Bird jestingly, touching his breast with a fluttering hand. "It would be stronger if you had red meat in your stomach," Smith suggested significantly. "The bacon is not for Indians," agreed Yellow Bird. "But the woman would have no cattle left if she killed only her own beef." "Many people stop here--strangers and friends," Yellow Bird admitted. "There is plenty on the range." Smith looked toward the Bar C ranch. "He is a dog on the trail, that white man, when his cattle are stolen," Yellow Bird replied doubtfully. "I've killed dogs--me, Smith--when they got in my way. Yellow Bird, are you a woman, that you are afraid?" "Wolf Robe, who stole only a calf, sits like this"--Yellow Bird looked at Smith sullenly through his spread fingers. "You have talked with the forked tongue, Yellow Bird. You are not a Piegan buck of the great Blackfoot nation; you are a woman. Your fathers killed men; _you_ are afraid to kill cattle." Smith turned from him contemptuously. "My heart is as strong as yours. I am ready." It was dusk when Smith returned and held out a blood-stained flour sack to the squaw. "Liver. A two-year ole." The squaw's eyes sparkled. Ah, this was as it should
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