ke Susie's impassioned defense in vain. Why he did not, he
was not himself sure. Perhaps it was because he liked the feeling of
power, of knowing that he held the life of the despised bug-hunter in the
hollow of his hand; or perhaps it was because it would serve his purpose
better to make the accusation later. One thing was certain, however, and
that was that he had not held his tongue through any consideration for
McArthur.

VI

THE GREAT SECRET

It was the day they buried White Antelope that Smith approached Yellow
Bird, a Piegan, who was among the Indians paying visits of indefinite
length to the MacDonald ranch. "Eddie" Yellow Bird, he was called at the
Blackfoot mission where he had learned to read and write--though he would
never have been suspected of these accomplishments, since to all
appearances he was a "blanket Indian."

Smith spoke the Piegan tongue almost as fluently as his own, so he and
Yellow Bird quickly became _compadres_, relating to each other stories of
their prowess, of horses they had run off, of cattle they had stolen, and
hinting, Indian fashion, with significant intonations and pauses, at
crimes of greater magnitude.

"How is your heart to-day, friend? Is it strong?"

"Weak," replied Yellow Bird jestingly, touching his breast with a
fluttering hand.

"It would be stronger if you had red meat in your stomach," Smith
suggested significantly.

"The bacon is not for Indians," agreed Yellow Bird.

"But the woman would have no cattle left if she killed only her own
beef."

"Many people stop here--strangers and friends," Yellow Bird admitted.

"There is plenty on the range." Smith looked toward the Bar C ranch.

"He is a dog on the trail, that white man, when his cattle are stolen,"
Yellow Bird replied doubtfully.

"I've killed dogs--me, Smith--when they got in my way. Yellow Bird, are
you a woman, that you are afraid?"

"Wolf Robe, who stole only a calf, sits like this"--Yellow Bird looked at
Smith sullenly through his spread fingers.

"You have talked with the forked tongue, Yellow Bird. You are not a Piegan
buck of the great Blackfoot nation; you are a woman. Your fathers killed
men; _you_ are afraid to kill cattle." Smith turned from him
contemptuously.

"My heart is as strong as yours. I am ready."

It was dusk when Smith returned and held out a blood-stained flour sack to
the squaw.

"Liver. A two-year ole."

The squaw's eyes sparkled. Ah, this was as it should