with her."

"Me, too," said Runnion, looking after Necia as her figure diminished
up the street. "By Heaven! She's as graceful as a fawn; she's white,
too. Nobody would ever know she was a breed."

"She's a good girl," said Stark, musingly, in a gentle tone that
Runnion had never heard before.

"Getting kind of mushy, ain't you? I thought you had passed that stage,
old man."

"No, I don't like her in that way."

"Well, I do, and I'm dead sore on that soldier."

"She's not your kind," said Stark. "A bad man can't hold a good woman;
he can win one easy enough, but he can't keep her. I know!"

"Nobody but a fool would want to keep one," Runnion replied, "specially
a squaw."

"She's just woke up to the fact that she is a squaw and isn't as good
as white. She's worried."

"I'll lay you a little eight to five that Burrell has thrown her down,"
chuckled Runnion.

"I never thought of that. You may be right."

"If it's true I'll shuffle up a hand for that soldier."

"If I were you I wouldn't deal it to him," said the gambler, dryly. "He
may not cut to your break."

Meanwhile, Necia had passed on out of the town and through the Indian
village at the mouth of the creek, until high up on the slopes she saw
Alluna and the little ones. She climbed up to them and seated herself
where she could look far out over the westward valley, with the great
stream flowing half a mile beneath her. She stayed there all the
morning, and although the day was bright and the bushes bending with
their burden of blue, she picked no berries, but fought resolutely
through a dozen varying moods that mirrored themselves in her delicate
face. It was her first soul struggle, but in time the buoyancy of youth
and the almighty optimism of early love prevailed; she comforted
herself with the fond illusion that this man was different from all
others, that his regard was equal to her own, and that his love would
rise above such accidental things as blood or breed or birth. And so
she was in a happier frame of mind when the little company made their
descent at mid-day.

As they approached the town they heard the familiar cry of
"Steam-bo-o-o-at," and by the time they had reached home the little
camp was noisy with the plaint of wolf-dogs. There were few men to join
in the welcome to-day, every able-bodied inhabitant having disappeared
into the hills, but the animals came trooping lazily to the bank, and
sat down on their haunches watching the app