“The young brave is not yet a great warrior, but he has a heart as big as a bear, and no white plume is bound up in his scalp-locks. He will be a great chief when years come heavy upon his head,” said the girl, cheered by the encouraging words of the great chief.
“Let my daughter speak his name, and then Ke-ne-ha-ha will know how to answer,” said the father.
“He is called the White Dog,” and then the girl gazed anxiously into her father’s face, but the face of the chief was like a face of marble; not a muscle moved as the name of his daughter’s lover fell upon his ears. Even the keen womanly instinct of Le-a-pah, now made doubly keen by the fires of love burning so intensely in her bosom, could not detect whether her father was pleased or displeased.
“The young warrior that captured the great white fighting-man, Boone?” said the chief, slowly.
The heart of the girl leaped for joy; she thought the speech of her father an omen of good.
“Yes,” she replied, joyously, and the warm blood leaped freely into her cheeks.
“The young brave is very young,” said the chief, gravely. But the heart of the girl could not be deceived. Her heart had told her that her father approved of her choice.
“Le-a-pah is young, too,” replied the girl.
“The chief is new on the war-path.”
“Yet, alone he grappled with the great white hunter, and brought him to the earth. What other red warrior has ever done the like?”