eled, staggering, wrestling, clinched like
infuriated wolverines. I had her wrist in my grip, squeezing it, and
the bright, sparkling knife soon clattered to the boards, but she
suddenly set her crooked knee inside mine and tripped me headlong,
hurling us both sideways to the floor, where we rolled, desperately
locked, she twisting and reaching for the knife again and again, until
I kicked it behind me and staggered to my feet, dragging her with me in
all her fury. But her maddened strength, her sinuous twisting, her
courage, so astonished me that again and again she sent me reeling
almost to my knees, taxing my agility and my every muscle to keep her
from tripping me flat and recovering her knife. At length she began to
sway; her dark, defiant eyes narrowed to two flaming slits; her
distorted mouth weakened into sullen lines, through which I caught the
flash of locked teeth crushing back the broken, panting breath. I held
her like a vise; she could no longer move. And when at last she knew
it, her rigid features, convulsed with rage, relaxed into a blank,
smooth mask of living amber.

For a moment I held her, feeling her whole body falling loose-limbed
and limp--held her until her sobbing breath grew quieter and more
regular. Then I released her; she reeled, steadying herself against the
wall with one hand; and, stepping back, I sank one knee, and whipped
the knife from the floor.

That she now looked for death at my hands was perfectly evident, I
being dressed as a forest-runner who knows no sex when murder is afoot.
I saw the flushed face pale slightly; the lip curl contemptuously.
Proudly she lifted her head, haughtily faced me.

"Dog of bastard nation!" she panted; "look me between the eyes and
strike!"

"Little sister," I answered gravely, using the soft Oneida idiom, "let
there be peace between us."

A flash of wonder lit her dark eyes. And I said again, smiling: "O
Heart-divided-into-two-hearts, te-ha-eho-eh, you are like him whom we
name, after 'The Two Voices'--we of the Wolf. Therefore is there peace
and love 'twixt thee and me."

The wonder in her eyes deepened; her whole body quivered.

"Who are you with a white skin who speak like a crested sachem?" she
faltered.

"Tat-sheh-teh, little sister. I bear the quiver, but my war-arrows are
broken."

"Oneida!" she exclaimed softly, clasping her hands between her breasts.

I stepped closer, holding out my arms; slowly she laid her hands in
mine, look