Presently a shadow fell upon her, and glancing up she saw an Indian girl of sixteen, a beautiful child of the forest, with a graceful, slender form, clothed in a handsome suit of bead-wrought buckskin, and with a crown of richly colored feathers upon her head. “Who are you, girl, and what can I do for you?” said Rose, struck by the great beauty and grace of the Indian girl. “I am the Red Bud of the Forest, the child of the mighty Pawnee chief, and I have come from my village beyond the prairie to tell the paleface maiden to beware of the false tongue of the paleface brave with eyes like the skies, for he would lead her from her happy home.” “Of whom do you speak, Red Bud of the Forest?” said the mystified Rose. “Of the white brave whom the Forest Rose loves as she does the sunshine, the trees, the birds, the rivers. He has a false tongue, so let the White Rose beware. Red Bud of the Forest has spoken.” Without another word the Indian girl turned and glided away, turning no ear to the call of Rose Carter, who urged her to return. After the departure of the Indian girl, Rose Carter sat for a long time, pondering over what she had heard, and wondering if the warning given could refer to one whom she loved most dearly, and who was then absent, and had been for months, gone to the Eastern settlements for a while before he returned to make her his wife. Then over her face stole a look of distrust of him who had won her young heart, for the words of Red Bud had left a deep impression. Presently her mother returned from milking the cows, and Alfred Carter from a day’s hunt, loaded down with game, while her brother, two years younger than Rose, came up from the river with a long string of fish. The night shades fell upon the earth, and around the well-spread board gathered the settler’s family--the cheerful fire, comfortable room, and pleasant faces presenting a happy and homelike scene. Yet a feeling of dread, of coming evil, clutched at the heart of Rose Carter, and the smile upon her face was forced. A little later there was a loud bark from the watchful dog without, a shot followed, a yelp, and then heavy blows upon the door. Springing to their feet, the father and son seized their rifles, while the mother and daughter, in considerable alarm, awaited the result. “Who is it that thus comes to my cabin?” cried Alfred Carter, in a stern voice. “Open your door, old man, or it will be the worse for you,” replied a coarse voice outside. “And why should I open my door to you? Had you come as a friend you would have been welcome; but as you come as a foe I will meet you as you deserve.” “The Branded Brotherhood do not parley long, old man,” suddenly rang out a clear, stern voice. Then, with a few heavy blows the door was crushed in, and one of the Brotherhood rushed across the threshold, to fall dead by a shot from Edgar’s rifle through the heart.