"Have you no home?" the Colonel asked. "Is your father not living?"
"Yes, I believe he is living, but I have not seen him for years."
"And why not?"
To this question Dane made no reply. He sat very still, looking down through the trees into the valley below. The Colonel at first became impatient, then angry.
"Look here, young man," he began, "if you are to have my daughter, I must know something more about who you are, and where you have come from. Why do you not wish to tell me about your father?"
Had any one else spoken in such a peremptory manner he would soon have learned his mistake. As it was, Dane found it difficult to control himself.
"I cannot tell you now," he quietly replied. "I must explain nothing, so please do not press me further."
The Colonel was now thoroughly aroused. His fighting blood was stirred, and he turned angrily upon his companion.
"Are you ashamed of your father?" he roared. "Who is he? and what has he done that you won't tell me about him? Surely———" He paused abruptly, while a look of consternation leaped into his eyes. He reached out and clutched Dane by the arm. "Tell me," he demanded, in a voice that was but a hoarse whisper, "is your father an Indian? Speak, quick. I must know the truth."
With a gesture of impatience, Dane threw aside the clutching hand, and sprang to his feet, his eyes ablaze with anger.