Duty! Duty! Ah, one might squander control of one’s own destiny, but for another, for the child whom the parent has brought into life—how answer that? It was the duty of the parent to the child—in that lay the whole definition of the word. He held the tiny face in his hands as he whispered: "Well, Hal, old chap, it’s a tough proposition they’ve put up to your daddy, son. But what must be must be. You’ll be braver than I am, I hope." He forgot that the child could not understand him. Sobs shook him as he held the boy tight against his breast. Hal sought to comfort his father with soft, loving pats. Jim raised his head. "Petrie, you’ve nailed me to the cross. He goes back with you." "You’ll never regret this," and Petrie laid his hand on Jim’s shoulder. "Ask them to teach him that I did this for his sake; but he’ll forget me—you’ll see. Some one else will take my place, and he will learn to love them better than he loves me." Petrie tried to comfort him. "No, he shall hold you in his memory always—always." Suddenly Jim remembered. "What about his mother?" "If you can make the sacrifice, she must. They say Indians are stoics." "I can understand the reason for it, Petrie, man. It will seem a needless cruelty to her. She’s almost as much of a child as Hal. I’ll try—I’ll try." Holding Hal by the hand, he walked to the cabin and called: "Nat-u-ritch, Nat-u-ritch, come here, little woman. I want you." *CHAPTER XXIII* Nat-u-ritch, with slow impassiveness, obeyed. She came from the house with hardly a glance at the stranger. She had changed but little; still slender and childish in form, motherhood and the past five years seemed to have left no mark upon her save, perhaps, for a more marked wistfulness of expression, especially when she looked at Jim and the boy. Her life was complete; physical deprivations or disappointments mattered little to her. Taught by Jim the ways of civilization, she tried to apply them to her surroundings, but it seemed to her a waste of the golden hours when she might be following her master instead across the plains or playing with her child. It was almost piteous to see how she controlled the instincts of her savage desire for freedom, and in her primitive way cared for the little cabin so as to please Jim. Malcolm Petrie noticed at once the difference between Nat-u-ritch and the other Indian women whom he had seen during the past days, and was impressed by it. Hal, at sight of his mother, quickly responded to her out-stretched hand. "Nat-u-ritch, this is my te-guin—my friend," and Jim indicated Petrie. She inclined her head to the solicitor and said, "How?" As her eyes met Petrie’s shrewd glance an instinctive apprehension caused her to tighten her arm about the child.