“The Red Bud is a free child of the woods; she asks not the false paleface brave whither she can go,” haughtily replied the Indian girl. “Red Bud turns her eyes with anger upon me; have I offended her?” he asked, changing his tone. “Yes; the Many Faces has spoken with false tongue to the Red Bud of the Forest. Before Many Faces came to the wigwam of the Red Bud, she sang like a bird of the woods, and her heart was like the silvery river; her sorrows were light, only falling upon her as softly as the autumn leaves kiss the ground. “But Many Faces took away the joy of the Red Bud, and the wind sighs nightly in her heart. The Great Spirit frowns at the child of the woods; the heart of the Indian maid is breaking, and the snow of winter will rest upon her bosom. “Many Faces has a false tongue, and a false light in his eyes, for he told the Red Bud he loved her; he took her from the wigwam of her people, and then left her alone to die. “But the Great Spirit would not let her die then. When she was worn down with hunger, when her feet would not press the earth, and the enemy of her people, the Sioux, would have danced around her scalp, the great white chief, who rides the prairie whirlwind, and whose eye ever looks death upon his foes, rescued her from her enemies and carried her back to her tribe.” “Was it Buffalo Bill, the scout, that saved your life, girl?” Lawrence inquired. “Red Bud has spoken the truth; her tongue is not crooked; it was the great white scout who carried her back to the Pawnee village, and he it was that told her that Many Faces loved a maiden here by the running waters.” “Curses on that scout! Did you come here to see that girl?” Howard Lawrence demanded harshly. “Red Bud has seen the Rose of the Woodland, and told her not to love Many Faces,” was the Indian girl’s brave answer. “By Heaven, girl, you shall die for that!” cried the aroused man, and he attempted to draw a pistol from his belt. Before he could do so, Red Bud unslung a light rifle from her back, and covered him with deadly aim. “Let not Many Faces seek to slay the Pawnee girl,” she said, “for she would not die by his hand. Her heart is broken, but she will not harm the paleface chief who broke it. Let him go, and never cross the path of the Red Bud again. Go; the Red Bud bids him go!” Still holding her aim upon his heart, the look of the Indian girl proved that she would kill him if he hesitated, and with a bitter curse Howard Lawrence drove the spurs into the flanks of his horse and dashed away, leaving Red Bud watching him until he was out of sight. A rapid ride of five minutes brought Lawrence to the cabin door. Then what a scene met his gaze! Here and there were scattered numerous pieces of furniture and household effects; the strong door was broken from its hinges, desolation was over all, while bloodstains were upon the floor and ground. There lay the body of the faithful watchdog, dead at his post.