“Would you have had me leave this poor fellow to die in the wood, like a dog?” asked the girl, spiritedly.
“Life ain’t worth much, anyway,” said the renegade, contemptuously. “One man ain’t missed in this hyer big world.”
“What brings you so near to the station?” asked Kate.
“Ain’t it natural that a white man should want to see some of his own color, once in awhile?” asked Kendrick, with a grin.
“Your color!” said the girl, in scorn, “though your face is white yet your heart is red! yes, as red as your hand has been with blood. In yonder settlement they call you the white Indian, and they would tear you to pieces if they could get their hands upon you—show you as little mercy as they would show a wolf.”
“That’s true, gal, true as preachin’; but do you suppose the hate’s all on one side? I reckon not,” and the renegade laughed discordantly. “I’ve seen many a white man dance while the red flames were burning his life away, and I’ve laughed at the sight.”
“And the guilt and shame that belongs to you clings to me also. I am your daughter, and that I am so is a curse upon my life. It has made me an outcast—forced me to seek a home far from the bounds of civilization. It has deadened all the good in my nature. It is a wonder that I am not thoroughly bad, for all think me so.” The tone in which the girl spoke showed plainly how deeply she felt the cruel truth.
“Inside of a month the settlers at Point Pleasant won’t jeer at you,” said Kendrick, meaningly.
“What will keep them from it?” asked Kate, in wonder.
“Ke-ne-ha-ha and his Shawnees. There’s a hurricane coming, gal, and Point Pleasant will be the first to feel it. Let ’em laugh now, they’ll cry tears of blood soon.”