"Areotha did what she could," was the reply. "One night, when the wolves went howling down the forest after the fawn which Areotha's rifle had failed to kill, the White Whirlwind said something that made his child wonder. He made her know that he took her one night when she was a little girl; took her from a burning wigwam beyond the big river. She asked him then to tell her all, but he said: 'Wait till the sickness leaves me,' and she waited. Now she is here; now she says, 'my father, tell me all, for in this war the bullet may find your heart, and Areotha will never know. Old Madgitwa did not bring me into the world; no, my father!" The face and voice were so full of pleading that none but a Girty could resist. His arm left the pliant waist, and his eyes resumed their old look. "You are too inquisitive!" he said. "It doesn't matter where I got you. You are mine, and the man--" He paused as if he was about to reveal something, which he would rather keep back. "My father, the Manitou, may send for Areotha, and the leaves will fall upon her before she can know who her real father is. Tell her. This may be the last time that she----" "Tell you? No!" was the harsh interruption, and all the revenge in Girty's nature seemed in his voice. "There are secrets which the stake could not force from me; this is one of them. There lives one man whom I wouldn't make happy to save my own life, and sooner than see you in his arms, I would drive this knife to your heart." With a cry Little Moccasin started from the blade that flashed in the starlight, and threw herself on the defensive, with rifle half raised and eyes flashing angrily. "You will not tell?" she cried. "Never!" The next instant she stepped toward the gnarled tree, and her rifle covered the renegade of the Maumee. "You've got me!" he said, looking into Areotha's face without a tremor of fear; "but I did not think that you would ever lift a rifle against the man who has been so kind to you. Kill me here, now, and the secret will be kept from you forever!" There was a spark of hope in his voice, and all at once the girl lowered the weapon. The outlaw was spared to scourge the region of the Maumee a while longer. Areotha put herself into his power when she lowered the rifle. With one of those panther-like bounds for which he was famous, Girty could have sprung upon her and removed her forever from his path. But he restrained himself; he even put up the knife, and did not seek to detain her when he heard her say: "My father, I am going!" With a look that spoke volumes, Little Moccasin turned on her heel, and plunged into the forest, leaving the renegade to his own reflections. "I think a mighty sight of her!" was all he said. He might have killed her, but he would not. CHAPTER XI. KATE MERRIWEATHER'S PROGRESS. Girty, the renegade, remained in his cabin door until the footsteps of Little Moccasin died away in the forest, and silence again pervaded the spot.