Levine looked down on her and his voice was pitying. "Why, you poor old devil, you look half starved." He dug into his pocket and brought out a silver dollar. "Go get some grub," he said. The old woman stared from the dollar to Levine's face and her voice rose to a shriek. "Steal! Steal! Make our young men drunk! Make our young girls have babies that grow like these snakes," she pointed a trembling, scrawny finger at the scowling mixed bloods. "White man--dirty fool--dirty thief," and she spat at Levine, at the same time striking the dollar from his hand. It rolled out onto the needles and lay shining in the firelight. John stiffened and the mixed bloods watched him curiously. But the squaw suddenly burst into the feeble yet deep drawn sobs of the old, and tottering over to the silver she picked it up. "Hungry!" she sobbed. "All the time much hungry." And she started slowly away from the fire in the direction of Kent and Lydia's hiding-place. "Quick!" whispered Kent, and noiselessly the two ran back into the darkness of the woods, through which, however, a silver light was beginning to filter. "There's the moon," he said in a low voice. "Now I can find the lake." He took Lydia's hand and they hastened in silence toward the rising moon. In less than half a mile they found the lake and far around its curving shore, the gleam of their own camp fire. "Holy Mike! What do you think of that!" demanded Kent as they headed for the fire. "Isn't Levine a wonder!" "Oh, Kent!" gasped Lydia. "What shall we do!" "Do!" cried Kent. "Why keep our mouths shut and see what happens. Lord, what an adventure! Lyd, I wouldn't have missed this day for a hundred dollars!" Lydia scarcely heard him. "John Levine!" she murmured. "My best friend! Oh, I can't believe it." "Shucks! Why, that's life! Gee, what rich pickings! Me for the real estate business!" "Kent, it's stealing, just as my squaw said. And it's just the meanest, dirtiest kind of stealing!" "It's nothing of the kind. The whites have got to have that land and if a lot of sentimental grannies won't let us get it openly, we've got to get it quietly." They were nearing the camp now and Kent stopped and in the moonlight took Lydia by the shoulders. "Look here, Lyd, don't you tell a soul about what we saw. Promise me!" "I'll do nothing of the kind," snapped Lydia. The two stood staring at each other. The lad, tall and broad, his dark face tense; the girl, slender, her fair hair shimmering, her eyes clear in the moonlight. "Promise!" repeated Kent. "I will not!" returned Lydia. Kent's hold on her shoulders tightened. He wanted to box her ears and yet, as he gazed at the wistful, sensitive lips, he felt a sudden desire to kiss her. "Well, promise me, you'll say nothing while we're in camp, anyhow." Lydia hesitated. After all, she thought, to whom could she tell the story and what could any one do! "All right, I'll promise that," she agreed, slowly.