He wore no blanket. He was clad from head to foot resplendent in beaded buckskin, his long black hair flowing beneath his crown of feathers and falling upon his shoulders. His handsome face was unscarred by any barbaric markings such as many of his warriors displayed. He was fresh and young; his eyes were flashing with deep emotion, and lit up his dusky countenance with a smile that had nothing gentle in it. He was every inch a chief. Nor was there any mistaking the barbaric lover that looked out of his eyes. Rosebud unconsciously drew herself up. There was no responsive smile upon her face. She knew there was mischief looming, and the woman in her was stirred to the depths. Young as she was she realized that that ring of sentries about her could mean but one thing. Now, when it was too late, she recalled Seth's many warnings, and bitterly repented her unutterable folly in ever going near this wild, untried young chieftain. She kept silent. But the seconds that passed as the man rode up were trying. He rode to within six inches of her, and their horses stood head to tail. Then he spoke in his native Sioux tongue, which so lends itself to the expression of ardent passion. "The sun has no brightness like the eyes of the paleface princess," he said, his proud face serious, and his eyes steady and flashing. There was almost a flush under the dusky skin of his cheeks. "The waters of the great lakes are deep, but the depth is as nothing to the blue of the princess's eyes. She is queen of her race, as Little Black Fox is king of his race. The king would wed the queen, whose eyes make little the cloudless summer sky. He loves her, and is the earth beneath her feet. He loves her, and all his race shall be her servants. He loves her, and all that is his is hers. So there shall be everlasting peace with her people and his. His heart is swept with a passion which is like to the fiercest blizzard of the plain. But its blast is hot; hotter and swifter than the fiercest heats of earth. There is no peace for him without the white princess. He is ever at war. The body fights with the brain, and his heart is torn. So he would wed the princess." Even in her extremity something of the real passion of this wild youth found a chord of sympathy in Rosebud's heart. His sincerity, his splendid personality, savage though he was, made her listen attentively. The woman in her was not insensible to his address, but the very truth of his passion roused her fears again to the topmost pitch. There was no mistaking those horsemen surrounding her. She gave one little helpless glance around at them that surely would have melted the heart of any white man. But the impassive faces held out no hope to her. She was at this man's mercy.