His thoughts had turned on the Reservations, that one direction in which they ever seemed to turn. Rosebud was thinking in another direction. Seth wanted to be rid of her, and was meanly cloaking his desire under the guise of her worldly welfare. The angry flush deepened, and she sat very erect with her head held high as she drove off. Nor did she turn for her parting shot. "I hope you'll find them; I want to go," she said. Seth made no answer. He watched her until the vehicle dropped down behind the brow of the farther slope. The girl's attitude was as dignified as she could make it while she remained in view. After that it was different. And Seth failed to realize that he had not made his meaning plain. He saw that Rosebud was angry, but he did not pause to consider the cause of her anger. He stood where she had left him for some time. He found his task harder than ever he had thought it would be. But his duty lay straight before him, and, with all his might, he would have hurried on his letter to England if he could. He knew he could see far ahead in the life of his little world as it affected himself and those he loved. He might be a dull-witted lover, but he was keen and swift to scent danger here on the plains; and that was what he had already done. Cost him what it might, Rosebud must be protected, and this protection meant her removal. He sighed and turned back to his work, but before he went on with it he opened and read the note which Rosebud had thought so unimportant. He read it twice over. "Little Black Fox applied for 'pass' for hunting. He will probably leave the Reservation in three weeks' time. He will take a considerable number of braves with him; I cannot refuse. "J. P." CHAPTER XIII THE DEVOTION OF WANAHA Nevil Steyne's day's labor, of whatever it consisted, was over. Wanaha had just lit the oil lamp which served her in her small home. The man was stretched full length upon the bed, idly contemplating the dusky beauty who acknowledged his lordship, while she busied herself over her shining stove. His face wore a half smile, but his smile was in nowise connected with that which his eyes rested on. Yet the sight he beheld was one to inspire pleasurable thoughts. For surely it falls to the lot of few men, however worthy, to inspire one woman with such a devotion as Wanaha yielded to him. Besides, she was a wonderful picture of beauty, colored it is true, but none the less fair for that. Her long black, braided hair, her delicate, high-bred face so delightfully gentle, and her great, soft black eyes which had almost, but not quite, lost that last latent glimmer of the old savage. Surely, she was worth the tenderest thought.