“Do you know how you fell into their hands in the first place?”
“I do not.”
They had paused beside a little brook which ran among the rocks, seeking an outlet to the river.
Percy was more and more satisfied that his idea was a correct one, and that the Antelope Boy, or Oneotah, was of white origin. He was tempted to ask her to remove the singular mask she wore, and let him look upon her face, but the thought that she would probably decline to do so restrained him, and he concluded to wait for a better opportunity.
“I am upon the verge of a discovery,” he told himself. “I feel convinced of it. The Mystic Cavern will clear away every doubt from my mind. But if this is Glyndon’s child, the old hunter should know it; though I dare say he would not have any objection to her marrying this young Nez Perce chief, Multuomah.”
This thought led him to resume his questions.
“Your first recollection, then, dates from the Yakima village?” he said.
“Yes,” replied Oneotah, answering his questions with great frankness.
“Had you any father there?”
“Not to my knowledge.”