“What tie is it then that binds you so strongly to Smoholler?” he asked, curiously.
“One of gratitude—and still a stronger one.”
“What?”
“Hush! don’t let him hear us—he is fearful when angered. He is my—”
“Husband?” supplied Percy, remembering the fear that Multuomah had expressed to Glyndon.
“No, no, no!” she answered, quickly. “Why, he is quite an old man. You can not see his features from the war-paint—but I have been permitted to gaze upon his face—I, of all his followers, because I am his daughter!”
Percy Vere was thoroughly amazed by this revelation.
“His daughter?” he repeated vaguely.
“Yes. He will give me to Multuomah, in good time, I know he will, for he has always treated me kindly. He saved me from becoming the bride of the fierce chief of the Yakimas. I am not a Nez Perce, nor yet a Yakima, though I have lived with both tribes. I was stolen from my father by the Yakimas when I was a child, and taken from them by a Nez Perce chief named Owaydotah, who reared me as his own daughter. I was very happy in the Nez Perce village, and it was a dreadful blow to me to fall again into the hands of the Yakimas. Smoholler rescued me, and revealed my true history to me, for his Spirit told him where I was. He saved me for Multuomah—can you wonder that I love him for it?”