ly, and mumbled:

"You remember me. You called my name. You know I am your brother. You know
we lived on Keeney's Knob. You remember the creek----"

"I remember," she quietly interrupted. "A very long time ago. Very long. I
am a Shawnee now. My heart is red."

Her words stunned him for a bit, then he managed to gasp out, "Who is this
man?" And he glared at the warrior seated at the foot of the tree.

"My husband."

The boy's mouth popped open, but without uttering a sound he stooped and
grabbed for his rifle. I placed my foot on it and seized his arm and
pleaded with him to regain his senses before he took any action. During
all this the warrior remained as passive as the tree-roots against which
he half-reclined.

After a brief hysterical outburst Cousin stood erect and ceased struggling
with me. And all the time his sister had watched us speculatively, her
gaze as cold and impersonal as though she had been looking at a rock. It
was very hideous. It was one of those damnable situations which must end
at once, and to which there can be no end. For the boy to kill his
sister's husband was an awful thing to contemplate.

I pulled the lad back and softly whispered:

"You can't do it. The blood would always be between you two. She has
changed. She believes she is red. Take her aside and talk with her. If she
will go with you make for the mountains and get her to the settlements."

"An' him?"

"I will wait an hour. If you two do not return before an hour--Well, he
will not bother you."

At first he did not seem to understand; then he seized my free hand and
gripped it tightly. Taking his rifle, he approached the girl and took her
by the arm.

"Come," he gently told her. "We must talk, you and I. I have hunted for
you for years."

She was suspicious of us two, but she did not resist him.

"Wait," she said.

She glided to the savage and leaned over him and said something. Then she
was back to her brother, and the two disappeared into the woods.

I drew a line on the savage and in Shawnee demanded:

"Throw me the knife she gave you."

Glaring at me sullenly, he flipped the knife toward the fire and resumed
his attitude of abstraction. I had never killed an unarmed Indian. I had
never shot one in cold blood. The office of executioner did not appeal,
but repulsive as it was it would not do for the boy to kill his savage
brother-in-law. Lost Sister and the savage were man and wife, even if
married according