Snoqualmie; but the white man whom you met in
the wood, it was not so with him. It was easy to smile and look glad
at him, but it is hard to do so for Snoqualmie."

Wallulah shrunk as if he had struck her a blow; then she looked at him
desperately, pleadingly.

"Do not say such cruel things. I will be a faithful wife to you. I
will never see the white man again."

The sneering malice in his eyes gave way to the gleam of exultant
anger.

"Faithful! You knew you were to be my woman when you let him put his
arms around you and say soft things to you. Faithful! You would leave
Snoqualmie for him now, could it be so. But you say well that you will
never see him again."

She gazed at him in terror.

"What do you mean? Has anything happened to him? Have they harmed
him?"

Over the chief's face came the murderous expression that was there
when he slew the Bannock warrior at the torture stake.

"Harmed him! Do you think that he could meet you alone and say sweet
things to you and caress you,--you who were the same as my squaw,--and
I not harm him? He is dead; I slew him."

False though it was, in so far as Snoqualmie claimed to have himself
slain Cecil, it was thoroughly in keeping with Indian character. White
captives were often told, "I killed your brother," or, "This is your
husband's scalp," when perhaps the person spoken of was alive and
well.

"Dead!"

He threw his tomahawk at her feet.

"His blood is on it. You are Snoqualmie's squaw; wash it off."

Dead, dead, her lover was dead! That was all she could grasp.
Snoqualmie's insulting command passed unheeded. She sat looking at the
Indian with bright, dazed eyes that saw nothing. All the world seemed
blotted out.

"I tell you that he is dead, and I slew him. Are you asleep that you
stare at me so? Awaken and do as I bid you; wash your lover's blood
off my tomahawk."

At first she had been stunned by the terrible shock, and she could
realize only that Cecil was dead. Now it came to her, dimly at first,
then like a flash of fire, that Snoqualmie had slain him. All her
spirit leaped up in uncontrollable hatred. For once, she was the
war-chief's daughter. She drew her skirts away from the tomahawk in
unutterable horror; her eyes blazed into Snoqualmie's a defiance and
scorn before which his own sunk for the instant.

"You killed him! I hate you. I will never be your wife. You have
thrown the tomahawk between us; it shall be between us forever.
Murderer!