"And your mother often talked about her parents?"
"Ah, ah. Very much; but mostly about her father. She said he was so kind, and she loved him dearly."
"Would you like to meet your mother's father some day, little one?" Natsatt asked. "Have you ever thought about him?"
Owindia looked up quickly into her lover's face, but under the pall of night she could detect no hidden meaning there.
"Have I thought of him?" she at length slowly replied. "I have dreamed of him by night and by day. I have always believed that he is living yet, and that sometime we shall meet. Maybe when we go beyond the great mountains of the rising sun I shall see him. But how sorry he will be when he hears that his daughter Klota is dead. He will grieve sorely, for he loved her."
To these words Natsatt made no response. He was thinking deeply of what he had just heard. There was no doubt now, and he would be able to tell Dan all he had learned. But there was a difficulty in the way. He knew that the Ranger would feel badly when he heard about Klota's death, and that would be only natural. But would he at once abandon the Post, and go back beyond the mountains? In that case Owindia would have to go too, and would she be willing to leave her father so soon?
"Why is Natsatt so still? Why does he not speak?" a voice pleaded at his side, which roused him from his reverie.
"I was thinking, little one," he replied, "and for a moment forgot where I was. But, come, we had better go back. It is dark, and your father will wonder where you are, should he return to the lodge and not find you there."
Together they slowly retraced their steps along the river. On their left stretched the great forest, black and silent. Ahead they could see the lights of the numerous camp fires. Not a thought of danger entered their minds so much taken up were they with each other. They were passing close to a heavy thicket of trees, when, without the least warning, two forms leaped upon Natsatt, and bore him to the ground. A half-smothered cry of fright escaped Owindia's lips, telling plainly that something, perhaps a hand was placed over her mouth.
Natsatt at once realised the cowardly nature of the attack, and the hot blood of a hundred generations surged madly through his veins. In falling he had partly loosened his assailants' grip, and before they could fully recover he dealt one a savage blow with his clenched fist, and sent him reeling backwards. Springing nimbly aside he met the second with a kick that doubled him up, causing him to give vent to a deep groan of pain. Not waiting for another charge Natsatt bounded to Owindia's side, as she was being borne away among the trees. He could see very little, but could hear the noise her captor was making. No lioness bereft of her cub could have hurled herself forward with greater impetuosity than did the enraged lover. He reached the maiden's side, and ripped away the arms which were holding her fast. Dropping his burden the cowardly cur turned to face the half-breed. But he was as a child in the clutch of that passion-inflamed man. Natsatt's hands reached for the villain's throat, and gripped with the suddenness and intensity of a steel-trap. For a few seconds there was a wild struggle, a gurgling, choking noise, and then the sound of a form dropping heavily to the earth.