Color flooded the girl’s cheeks as she gazed at him. He was even pleasanter-looking than her memory had told her. From his broad forehead to his square, resolute chin and smiling, trustful mouth, he was all she could have hoped. She felt her carefully nurtured distrust melting and strove to call it back. “Yes,” she answered, with a sudden catch of her breath. “Yes. Better.” “That’s good.” Jack pushed back his hat and wiped away the perspiration that stood upon his brow. “You are not much hurt, really,” he went on. “The bullet cut the artery of your leg and you lost a whole lot of blood; in fact, you were pretty nearly drained dry before I could stop it. Except for that it didn’t do much harm, and as soon as you get back your strength you’ll be up and about.” The girl nodded slowly. “You are very good,” she said. Jack shrugged away her comment. “I didn’t know where you were going,” he insinuated, “or how you came to be where you were, but I couldn’t stop, and of course I couldn’t leave you, so I just bundled you into the wagon and brought you along. I was bound for Wapakoneta but I’ve had to turn off to Fort Wayne instead, so that’s where we’re going. I hope it meets your approval.” He ended with a smile. The girl understood that she was being questioned. She had determined what to say and she answered quickly, in fairly good English, noticing that Williams was listening as she spoke. “I come from Wapakoneta!” Jack stared. “You mean you lived there with the Indians?” “For many moons I have lived there. I know no other life but that.” “You were a prisoner?” “Prisoner! No! Yes! Perhaps you call it so. I think the Shawnees carry me away from somewhere when I am a child. I have lived with them ever since. They were good to me. I travel the long trail south with the chief Wilwiloway when that wicked white man kill him.” Jack’s face darkened. “It was a brutal murder,” he said, sharply, glancing at Williams. “It shall be punished. But what is your name? Where do your friends live? Where do you want to go?” The girl shook her head. “I do not know what my name was before I came to the Shawnees,” she answered, slowly. “The Indians call me Bobapanawe.” “Bobapanawe. That means ‘lightning,’ doesn’t it?” Jack laughed. “It suits you all right, but I’m afraid it’s too much of a mouthful. I’ll call you Bob, if you don’t object. I suppose you don’t know anything about your friends?” The girl shook her head. “I have no friends except among the Shawnees,” she answered. “Perhaps I had better go back to them.” As she spoke she half closed her eyes, but through her long, curling eyelashes she watched Jack’s face. “Go back to the Indians! Great Scott! You can’t do that.” “But where then shall I go?” “Well----” Jack scratched his head--“we’ll have to think about that. Maybe we’ll be able to find out something about your people when we get to Fort Wayne.”