!" Then the Indian said slowly with an assumed indifference, "She will
be his squaw. This white brave."

"That is how they say." It might have puzzled Nevil to apply names to
those represented by "they." "He is a great brave, truly. He fought for
her. He killed your father. That is how these things go. She is for him
surely."

A frown had settled on the fierce young chief's face.

"My father was old," he said.

Nevil glanced at the speaker out of the corner of his eyes, and then
continued his watch on the flame still struggling so ardently to devour
the half-green wood. He knew when to hold his tongue.

"Yes," the young man went on. "My father was a wise chief, but he was
old--too old. Why did he keep the white girl alive?"

"He took her for you. You only had fifteen summers. The white girl had
eleven or thereabouts. He was wise. It was good med'cine."

Then the chief stirred himself. And Nevil, who lost no movement on the
other's part, detected the restless action of one who chafes under his
thought. Little Black Fox prefixed his next remark with another short
laugh.

"My people love peace now. It is good. So good that your people come and
teach us. They show our squaws how to make things like the white squaws
make. And the papooses forget our tongue, and they make words out of
strange drawings which the white med'cine man makes on a board. Tchah! We
forget our fathers. We feed when your people give us food, and our young
men are made to plough. We only hunt when we are told to hunt. Our life is
easy, but it is not a brave's life."

Nevil nodded, and chose his reply carefully.

"So," he said, "it is a life of ease. You choose your life. And naturally
you choose a life where you have all you want, and do not have to trouble.
After all, what is the old life? A life of much danger, and little ease.
You fight, you kill, or you are killed. You risk much and gain little. But
you are men, brave men, great warriors, I grant you. And the squaws like
brave men--even white squaws. But I say it is wise, though not brave, to
live in the tepee. It is so easy. Your braves have their squaws always
with them. They grow fat till their sides shake. They no longer care to
hunt. Why should they? Many papooses come, and they grow up like their
fathers. There are no Sun-Dances to make braves, because none want to be
braves. There are no Ghost-Dances, because the white men keep the Evil
Spirits away, and there is no need. So. The I