watched. They forgot their interest in
me and let me go. I could stand unheeded. An old man threw tinder on
the fire, and we saw each other's faces as in the searching, red light
of a storm. I watched the cords in Starling's neck tighten and relax
as he talked on and on.

The drama was in pantomime to me, as to the Indians, for the cousins
spoke in English. But I could understand the woman's face. She spoke
in monosyllables, but I could have pitied any other man for the gulf
she put between them by her look. She was more than scornful; torn and
disheveled as she was, she was cruelly radiant, her eyes black-lined
and her lips hard. She was unassailable. And when she met her
kinsman's eye I gloried in her till I could have laid my cheek on the
ground at her feet.

It was plain they were kinsmen. I had marked the strange blood
resemblance between them when I first saw the man, and it was doubly to
be noted now. It was blood against blood as they faced each other.
And it came to me that it was more than a personal duel. No wrong is
so unforgivable as one from our own family whose secret weaknesses we
know and share, and I felt that the repulsion in the woman's eyes was
part for herself and part for her pride of race. Yet I was uncertain
of the issue. The tie of blood is strong, and after a few minutes I
thought that Starling was gaining ground. His great personality
enwrapped us all, and his strange, compelling voice went on and on and
on, pleading, pleading in a tongue that I could not understand. His
eyes never left the woman's, and in time hers fell. I tried to clench
my bound hands, for my pride in her was hurt; yet I could understand
his power.

It was just then that the savages wearied of the spectacle and hustled
Starling away. They saw that he was English, and they unbound his
arms, and began to take counsel concerning him. In a flash I saw my
path clear. They were friendly to the English. The woman was English.
I must not let her identify herself with me. And so when her glance
crept back to me, I was prepared. I would not stop to read what her
look might say. I shook my head at her and dropped my eyes. I made
the same signal to Singing Arrow. The Indian would understand my
motive; I could not be sure about the woman.

And then I turned and mingled with the crowd, with my heart beating
strangely but my brain cool. The interest was centring in Starling,
and the older men had their ca