ew he was not
only defying his enemy, but defying death as well.

The Tulameen laughed lightly, easily. "I shall not kill the sire
of my wife," he taunted. "One more battle must we have, but your
girl-child will come to me."

Then he took his victorious way up the trail, while the old chief
walked with slow and springless step down into the canyon.

The next morning the chief's daughter was loitering along the
heights, listening to the singing river, and sometimes leaning over
the precipice to watch its curling eddies and dancing waterfalls.
Suddenly she heard a slight rustle, as though some passing bird's
wing had clipt the air. Then at her feet there fell a slender,
delicately shaped arrow. It fell with spent force, and her Indian
woodcraft told her it had been shot to her, not at her. She started
like a wild animal. Then her quick eye caught the outline of a
handsome, erect figure that stood on the heights across the river.
She did not know him as her father's enemy. She only saw him to be
young, stalwart, and of extraordinary manly beauty. The spirit of
youth and of a certain savage coquetry awoke within her. Quickly
she fitted one of her own dainty arrows to the bow-string and sent
it winging across the narrow canyon; it fell, spent, at his feet,
and he knew she had shot it to him, not at him.

Next morning, woman-like, she crept noiselessly to the brink of the
heights. Would she see him again--that handsome brave? Would he
speed another arrow to her? She had not yet emerged from the tangle
of forest before it fell, its faint-winged flight heralding its
coming. Near the feathered end was tied a tassel of beautiful
ermine-tails. She took from her wrist a string of shell beads,
fastened it to one of her little arrows, and winged it across the
canyon, as yesterday.

The following morning, before leaving the lodge, she fastened the
tassel of ermine-tails in her straight black hair. Would he see
them? But no arrow fell at her feet that day, but a dearer message
was there on the brink of the precipice. He himself awaited her
coming--he who had never left her thoughts since that first arrow
came to her from his bow-string. His eyes burned with warm fires,
as she approached, but his lips said simply: "I have crossed the
Tulameen River." Together they stood, side by side, and looked down
at the depths before them, watching in silence the little torrent
rollicking and roystering over its boulders an