“Humph!” The man lashed the unoffending mules with his whip. “Git up there!” he ordered. Then he spoke over his shoulder. “All right,” he said. “You’ll do as you want, I reckon. If I had the say I’d kick him out durned quick. An’ I’m tellin’ you you’ll be blamed sorry before you git shut of him. Breed or no breed, he’s been brought up among the Injuns or I ain’t no judge, an’ he’ll never be no good. Them Injun-bred boys never are. He’ll turn on you like a snake in the grass. You hear me.” With a jerk and a jolt the wagon rolled off. The motion sent little thrills of pain through the girl’s bullet-pierced leg, but the turmoil in her mind prevented her heeding them. Desperately she tried to control her thoughts. First, her disguise had held good. The white men thought she was a boy. Well and good; that was what she wanted them to think. If they had not found her out when she was unconscious and at their mercy, they would probably not do so soon. Her entry among them had not been auspicious, but at least it had been made--and made in a way that banished the last shred of hesitation from her heart. They were all robbers and murderers; gladly would she slay them all. But how was she to do it? Tecumseh had told her that runners would come to her from time to time to get any information she might have. But who were these runners; Tecumseh had not told her; Wilwiloway had not told her. Perhaps the latter had meant to do so, but had waited until it was too late. Perhaps, after all, it was not necessary that she should know them; they would know her and would come to her. But could they find her? Surely Tecumseh had contemplated no such occurrence as that which had taken place. Her trail would be broken; the runners might not find her; her mission would be a failure. She must watch and wait and snatch at any chance to send tidings. But what were the white men going to do with her? Evidently they were divided in opinion. One of them--the man on the box, the man who had murdered Wilwiloway--would have slain and scalped her if he had not been prevented; he still hated her and would maltreat her if he dared. The other, the young white chief with the blue eyes--Alagwa wondered whether he could be her kinsman from the far south--wished her well. He had protected her. Passionate gratitude rose in the girl’s heart, but she choked it back. He belonged to the hated white race; and she--her skin might be white, but her heart was red, red, red! A thudding of hoofs in the dust came from behind the wagon and a horse thrust his head beneath the arched top. Behind it appeared the face of the young white chief, peering into the shadowy depths of the wagon. From behind the veil of her long lashes Alagwa watched him.