f the false impression he was leaving with Evan
Lancaster; or had read the thoughts of the younger girl, country-reared,
unused to the little courtesies of speech and action. For there were two
who had misunderstood him that day.

CHAPTER V

THE DESPISED

Squaw Charley crouched, dull-eyed, among the dogs. The dark folds of his
blanket were drawn tight over his tattered waist. Close around his feet,
which were shod in old and cracking moccasins, was tucked his fringed
skirt. An empty grain-sack covered his head and shielded his face from
the wind. As an icy gust now and then filtered in through the chinks of
the stockade wall and swept him, he swayed gently back and forth; while
the tailless curs snuggling against him whined in sympathy and fought
for a warmer place. For the kennel roof of shingles, put up in one
corner of the enclosure as a protection for the pack, had served only,
during the week that followed the storm, to prevent the pale beams of
the winter sun from reaching the pariah and his dumb companions.

Presently the flap of a near-by lodge was flung aside. An Indian woman
emerged and threw a handful of bones toward the shelter. At once Squaw
Charley awoke to action. Shedding sack and blanket, he scrambled forward
with the half-starved, yelping beasts to snatch his portion.

His bone picked clean of its little, the pariah resumed his crouching
seat once more; and the pack closed quietly about him, licking his face
and the hands that had cuffed them as, with much turning and shivering,
they settled down to sleep.

A warrior stalked proudly past, ignoring both his disgraced brother and
the sentries that paced the high board walk at the wall's top. Two
Indian lads approached, chattering to each other over the heart-shaped
horn tops they were swinging on buckskin strings, and tarried a moment
to scoff. Squaw Charley paid no heed to either brave or boys. His face
was hidden, his eyes shut. He seemed, like the dogs, to be sleeping.

Of a sudden there came a shrill summons from a distant wigwam, and the
pariah sprang up eagerly. Afraid-of-a-Fawn stood in the tepee opening,
her evil face with its deep scar thrust forward to look about.

"Skunk!" she shrieked, as he hurried toward her, and her long, black
teeth snapped together; "a fire!" Then she spat to cleanse her mouth.

Squaw Charley hastened back to the shingle roof for an armful of fuel.
Returning, he entered the wigwam and knelt beneath the s