The man now backed slowly away some ten paces, and then he lifted a gun that lay on the grass where he had left it.
Suddenly a score of white men emerged from the bushes.
There was a flash of fire, a loud explosion, a great volume of white smoke. And the wolf, the bear, and the white doe all fell weltering in their blood.
The wolf was not dead, and with fierce snarls tried desperately to crawl toward the white man. One of the men ran forward and beat its brains out with a club.
The Indians came rushing from their houses.
There was another flash of fire, a cloud of smoke, and the forward Indian fell dead. The rest of the red folks fled in wild alarm. White Doe stood still, her yellow hair blowing in the sunshine. Again the leader of the white men came forward, a smile of triumph on his face. His manner said more plainly than any words could express: "You are in my power. See! I have killed your protectors, your friends. So I can kill you. You must come with me."
He pressed his hand to his heart in sign of love.
The woman backed away from him, her eyes shooting hatred and defiance.
At her girdle hung the silver arrow. Her hand now reached for it.