"No, it was all horrible--horrible," Yseulte went on, speaking gravely and sadly. "If I was not half-dead with fear it was thanks to my father's teaching. He always used to say that panic was fatal to self-respect, and still more fatal to self-preservation. Child as I was, the idea took root, and I was able to conquer my fears of bulls or savage dogs, or mysterious noises at night, or at any rate very nearly so." "Quite, I should say. Your father must be a somewhat rare type of man." "He is. Wait till you see him. Then you will think so." "Is he coming out here, then?" "Coming out here!" she echoed, wonderingly. "Oh, no. I am going back in a few months' time. I mean when you come to see us and give him the opportunity of thanking you as I never can." Vipan looked curiously at her. They had been strolling all this while, and were now well out of earshot of the camp. "When I come and see you," he repeated. "To begin with, it is extremely unlikely I shall ever leave these festive plains, let alone go back to England." "Ah, you _are_ English. I guessed that much from the very first. But I thought--we all thought--you were only out here on a trip." He did not even smile. "Do you think, Miss Santorex, that a man out here `on a trip' would be up to every move of a Sioux war-party? No; I have been out here a good many years. There are those in the settlements who speak of me as the white Indian, who have more than once attempted my life because I happen to feel more respect for the savage as he is than for that vilest of all scum of humanity the `mean white.' Why, not many weeks ago I was in a far tighter place than this last little shindy of ours, and narrowly escaped with my life at the hands of the latter." "Bang!" The picket posted on an eminence a mile distant had discharged his piece. "We must cut short our walk," went on the adventurer. "That shot means Indians in sight." A few minutes and the pickets could be seen riding in. As arranged, the cattle, which had been brought near on the first alarm, were now quickly driven into the corral. The man who had fired the shot reported a large party of warriors approaching rapidly from the direction in which the assailants had retired. He reckoned it was the same lot coming back. "Hoorar! Guess we'll lick 'em into pounded snakes again," drawled the long Kentuckian, on hearing this news. "They don't want to fight," said Vipan, "or they wouldn't have drawn off so kindly to let us water and graze the stock. This time they're coming to talk." "Well, that's better, anyhow," said the Major. A sentiment which his wife, who was standing at his side looking very pale and scared, thoroughly echoed.