ion to the devil, and
then there'd be trouble. It's a delicate thing, but I can't stand by and
see anything happen to your chum, my Wana."

"No; I love the paleface girl," replied Wanaha, simply.

"It comes to this," Nevil went on, with something like eagerness in his
manner. "We must warn her, and trust to her sense. And mind, I think she's
smart enough."

"How?"

The woman's dark eyes looked very directly into the man's. Nevil was
smiling again. His anxiety and perplexity seemed suddenly to have
vanished, now that he had come to his point; as though the detailing of
his fears to her had been the real source of his trouble.

"Why, I think it will be simple enough."

The man left the table and came to the woman's side. He laid one hand
caressingly on her black hair, and she responded with a smiling upward
glance of devotion. "See, you must tell her I want to speak with her. I
can't go to her. My presence at the farm is not welcome for one thing," he
said bitterly, "and, for another, in this matter I must not be seen
anywhere near her. I've considered this thing well. She mustn't come here
either. No."

He spoke reflectively, biting his long, fair moustache in that nervous way
he so often betrayed.

"You, my Wana, must see her openly at the farm. You must tell her that I
shall be in the river woods just below the bridge, cutting wood at sundown
on Monday. That's three days from now. She must come to me without being
seen, and without letting any one know of her visit. The danger for me,
for us, my Wana, is great, and so you must be extra careful for all our
sakes--and so must she. Then I will tell her all, and advise her."

The woman's eyes had never left his face. The trust and confidence her
look expressed were almost touching. She did not question. She did not ask
why she could not give the girl her warning. Yes, she understood. The
proceeding appealed to her nature, for there is no being in the world to
compare with the Indian when native cunning is required. She could do this
thing. Was it not for Rosebud? But, above all, was it not for him? The
honest man rarely puts faith in a woman's capacity outside her domestic
and social duties. The rascal is shrewder.

"It is a good way," she said, in her deep, soft voice, after much thought.
"And I go--yes. I tell her. I say to her that she must not speak. And she
say 'yes.' I know Rosebud. She clever too. She no child." She paused, and
the man moved away to his