“Yes, my mother was a paleface squaw, my father a great Indian chief. He died, and my mother went back to her people, taking me with her. She died, and I work hard for officer’s family at fort far away. I hear them say: ‘She only half-breed Injun; watch her.’ I feel mad, I feel bad, and run away back to my people. But some treat me good, one young squaw pretty, just like you, and I love her. I love you for her. Yellow Bird be good to you.” The tears came into the eyes of Lucille, and, stepping close up to the woman, she kissed her. It was under the impulse of her loneliness, her sorrow, her helplessness, and the kind words spoken to her. The squaw started as though she had been struck a blow, for it fairly frightened her, but she said quickly: “Oh, yes, Yellow Bird be heap good to little paleface.” Then she set about her work to clean up, just as she had done when living in the officer’s family. She got water from a spring near, and built a fire in the large hearth, so that the cabin soon no longer looked forlorn. The outlaw had left the stage cushions there, the stores he had bought in Pioneer City and Lucille’s satchel, and the young captive was soon quite comfortable, and she began to feel that she had cause to congratulate herself, after all, that matters were as they were. In Yellow Bird she believed she had found a friend. Yet Lucille was not one to gush, and she decided that there was a very narrow margin between deceit and sincerity in one’s appearance, so she wished to know whether the Indian woman was really true or false. As she watched the squaw preparing supper, she asked her about Death Face, the young chief. “He heap good young chief--heap like paleface. He be great chief some day, and maybe have peace with palefaces, for he don’t like to kill Little Paleface’s people, but big fighter in battle. Red people all love Death Face. Iron Eyes heap cruel man, kill and scalp paleface, hate them bad. Iron Eyes kill many.” Lucille glanced out of the open window and said half aloud: “Speak of the devil, and his imp appears. There comes Death Face now.” He rode up to the front of the cabin and was alone. Lucille walked out on the piazza and to her surprise he bowed courteously to her and then said: “I hope you are comfortable here!” “Comfortable, yes, far more so than I anticipated being, but unhappy, as you may know, for my people are not your people, my life not your life, we are raised in a different atmosphere and are foes.” The chieftain listened to her in deepest attention, gazing fixedly at her, and then said: “I like to hear you talk, for it brings back to me the voice of those I loved, those who are gone.” “Whom do you mean?” “I mean one whom I loved as a father, another who was a mother to me, and a sister and brother. They are all gone--dead; but I had not forgotten them, and you bring them back to me now, so I love to look at you, love to hear you talk.