nd mother would back me up. Even yet I could tell you or Tubbs or
Mr. Ralston to leave, and they'd have to go. But Smith?--no! He's come
back to stay. And she'll let him stay, if she knows it will drive me away
from home. Mother's Injun, and she can only read a little and write a
little that my Dad taught her, and she wears blankets and moccasins, but I
never was 'shamed of Mother before. If she marries Smith, what can I do?
Where can I go? I could take my pack outfit and start out to hunt Dad's
folks, but if Mother marries Smith, she'll need me after a while. Yet how
can I stay? I feel sometimes like they was two of me--one was good and one
was bad; and if Mother lets Smith turn me out, maybe all the bad in me
would come to the top. But there's one thing I couldn't forget. Dad used
to say to me lots of times when we were alone--oh, often he said it:
'Susie, girl, never forget you're a MacDonald!'"

McArthur turned quickly and looked at her.

"Did your father say that?"

Susie nodded.

"Just like that?"

"Yes; he always straightened himself and said it just like that."

McArthur was studying her face with a peculiar intentness, as if he were
seeing her for the first time.

"What was his first name, Susie?"

"Donald."

"Donald MacDonald?"

"Yes; there was lots of MacDonalds up there in the north country."

"Have you a picture, Susie?"

A rifle-shot broke the stillness of the droning afternoon. Susie was on
her feet the instant. There was another--then a fusillade!

"It's the Indians after Smith!" she cried. "They promised me they
wouldn't! Come--stand up here where you can see."

McArthur took a place beside her on a knoll and watched the scene with
horrified eyes. The Indians were grouped, with Bear Chief in advance.

"They're shootin' into the stable! They've got him cornered," Susie
explained excitedly. "No--look! He's comin' out! He's goin' to make a run
for it! He's headed for the house. He can run like a scared wolf!"

"Do they mean to kill him?" McArthur asked in a shocked voice.

"Sure they mean to kill him. Do you think that's target practice? But look
where the dust flies up--they're striking all around him--behind
him--beside him--everywhere but in him! They're so anxious that they're
shootin' wild. Runnin' Rabbit ought to get him--he's a good shot! He
_did_! No, he stumbled. He's charmed--that Smith. He's got a strong
medicine."

"He's not too brave to run," said McArthur, but added: "I