“Thanks,” she said. “I was afraid I should be obliged to leave the greater part of my game on the mountain, but you happened along so luckily that I am delighted. Does it occur to you at this moment, Mr. Velveteens, that you are most beautifully sold?” “You’ve got the whip hand, now, I reckon,” was the answer; “but that won’t always last. One of these yer days _my_ chaince may come, an’ when it does no one, not even Rafe, shill stop me when I want my revenge.” “I am not yet satisfied that I shall let you go,” she answered. “You came here under false colors, and betrayed those who thought that they were giving you aid in time of need while you were only studying a way to effect the release of Rafe Norris.” “He’s my pard,” was the reply. “You wouldn’t ask a man to go back on his pard, would ye?” “No; I can not blame you so much for that but you did a wicked and cruel act when you poisoned my pet bear.” “Who sez I did?” “No matter; you did the deed, for your face betrays you. Why should I not keep you here until my father returns, to meet his vengeance?” “He’s marked me fur life,” replied Velveteens, holding up his maimed hand. “Ain’t that enough?” “If I let you go, your first act will be to study new wrongs. I am afraid I must keep you a prisoner.” “Don’t do it, gal,” he pleaded, eagerly. “I must go back; I’m ruined forever ef I don’t, ye see—and I’ll promise any thing—any thing, ef ye’ll only let me go.” “And you would break your promise as readily as it is made,” she answered. “I do not know what to do in your case.” “See thar, gal; yender comes Whirlwind and his gang. Oh, let me git off fur he’ll take my scalp, sure.” “Away with you, then; save yourself if you can, but never let me see your face again.” He sprung away eagerly and began to clamber up the mountain rapidly, for Whirlwind and two of his chief warriors were already in view. Myrtle did not attempt to fly, but waited calmly the approach of the chief, who dismounted and came forward, starting back in surprise at her great beauty. “Short Legs’ squaw, eh?” he said, in broken English. “No ’fraid of Whirlwind; he good friend to Short Legs and Beaver Captain.” “I am not afraid of the great Blackfoot chief,” replied Myrtle, who had been told what to do in case Whirlwind came. “My father has left a message for him.” “Good; Whirlwind will read it.” She went into the cabin and came out with two pieces of bark inscribed with strange hieroglyphics. The chief looked at them intently and seemed to understand them. “It is good; tell Short Legs that Whirlwind will meet him at the place with many braves. Who is the man who goes up mountain; friend, eh?” Myrtle hesitated, for, bad and cruel as she knew Velveteens to be, she could not find it in her heart to expose him to the tender mercies of the Blackfoot chief. Yet, she did not wish to lie to him, for that was a crime which he would never forgive. She did the best thing under the circumstances—told the truth.