When Charlie had called the last of these Levine spoke, "I'd like to call the Government Roll-maker, Mr. Hardy." A small man, who had slipped into the room unnoticed during the proceedings, came forward. "What is your business, Mr. Hardy?" asked Levine. "I am sent here by the Indian office to make a Roll of the Indians on this reservation, in the attempt to discover which are full and which mixed bloods." "Do you find your task difficult, Mr. Hardy?" Levine's voice was whimsical. "Very! The Government allows a man to claim his Indian rights when he has as little as one sixty-fourth of Indian blood in his veins. On the other hand, the older Indians are deadly ashamed of white blood in their veins and hate to admit it." "Mr. Hardy, you have your Rolls with you? Yes? Well, tell me the blood status of each of these witnesses." The room was breathless while the little Roll-maker ran through his list. According to this not one of the witnesses against Levine was a full blood nor one of the Indians from whom he had taken land. Even old Susie and Charlie's sister, he stated, had white blood in their veins. "It's a lie!" shouted Charlie. "This man Hardy is paid by Levine!" "Gently, Jackson!" said Senator James. "Mr. Levine, do you wish to call more witnesses?" "Not for the present," replied John. "Let Jackson go on." Charlie called old Susie. And old Susie, waving aside any attempts on Charlie's part to help, told of the death of her daughter from starvation and cold, this same daughter having sold her pines to Levine for a five-dollar bill and a dollar watch. She held out the watch toward Levine in one trembling old hand. "I find this in dress, when she dead. She strong. It take her many days to die. I old. I pray Great Spirit take me. No! I starve! I freeze! I no can die. She young. She have little baby. She die." Suddenly, she flung the watch at Levine's feet and sank trembling into her chair. There was silence for a moment. In at the open window came the rumble of a street-car. Levine cleared his throat. "All this is dramatic, of course, but doesn't make me the murderer of the squaw." "No! but you killed my father!" shouted Charlie Jackson. And rising, he hurled forth the story he had told Lydia, years before. Lydia sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes fastened in horror on Charlie's face. A great actor had been lost in creating Charlie an Indian. He pictured his father's death, his sister's two attempts at revenge with a vividness and power that held even Levine spell-bound. It seemed to Lydia that the noose was fastened closer round John's neck with every word that was uttered. Suddenly she sprang to her feet. "Stop, Charlie! Stop!" she screamed. "You shan't say any more!" Senator Elway rapped on the table. "You're out of order, Miss Dudley," he exclaimed, sharply.