"I hope you don't take me for a human bloodhound," he replied. "I am not a saint by any means, but I have never harmed a squaw yet, and I have always lived in the North. My mother, as you know, was an Indian woman, and for her sake at least should I not respect the women of her own race?"
"Sure, sure," responded Dan. "But—"
"Will you please hear me through?" Natsatt interrupted. "I might as well tell you now as at any other time what is on my mind. I visited the chief's lodge this morning for the purpose of seeing his daughter, Owindia. Of all maidens I have ever met she is the fairest, and I believe the noblest. I love her, and I know she loves me. Why should we not, therefore, marry when the opportunity arrives?"
Ranger Dan looked keenly into the animated face before him, and his heart warmed toward the young man more than ever. He reached out and seized Natsatt's hand in his.
"Lad," he said, "I believe your heart is right, and that you love the maiden. It would be no use, I see, to try to turn you from your purpose. But wait until you can be joined in holy wedlock. I have seen too many unholy unions, and they never prosper. They must be sealed in the presence of the Great Father above. I must see the lass myself."
"But did you not see her, sir?" Natsatt questioned. "She was standing near her father last night by the bank of the river."
"Was she? Well, I didn't notice her. But come, lad, I have something to say to you to-day. My heart and mind have been deeply stirred by what you have just told me. Come into the store where no one will hear us. We must be alone."
Somewhat surprised, Natsatt followed his leader into the building and seated himself upon a stool by Dan's side.
"You have wondered," the Ranger began, "why a man at my advanced age should undertake such a work as this. Why should I wish to spend so much money upon building a fort in the wilderness with so many odds against me? But, lad, this Post is only a pawn in the game I am playing. There is a purpose back of it which is very near my heart. Listen and I will tell you.
"Years ago I maintained a trading Post among the Indians far to the south, right amidst the mountains. My wife was a native woman whom I had married years before. We had several children born to us, but only one lived—Klota we called her. She was the pride of my heart, and as I watched her grow and develop into all the charms of maidenhood, my cup of joy was full to overflowing. We were great companions, and her voice was like the sweetest music to my ears. Often she would ramble about the forest, and return bringing beautiful wild flowers she had gathered. Then one day never to be forgotten, she disappeared so mysteriously as not to leave a trace behind. She had been away as usual, and when she did not return at night we became greatly alarmed. Search was made, but all in vain. Days passed into weeks and weeks into months, but no word ever came of our darling Klota. The blow was a heavy one to my wife. She faded, and at length left me. I laid her to rest there by the trading Post, and abandoned the place. No longer would I live amid scenes where I had experienced such mingled joy and sorrow. From that time I devoted my life in seeking to find some trace of my lost child. At times I believed that some accident had befallen her, that either she had been drowned, or torn to pieces by bears, for savage grizzlies were common in those parts. But my principal conviction led me to think that she had been stolen away by marauding Indians. Never for a moment did I imagine that she had been taken westward. What seemed to be an impassable range of mountains barred the way, and beyond was an unknown region. No, she had not gone in that direction I felt certain. Either South, East or North could she have been taken, if taken at all. I, therefore, determined to scour the land in the vague hope of finding my child.