Natachee the Indian stood beside his white companion.
Hugh Edwards held out his hand to the red man.
“Good-by, Natachee.”
“You go?” asked the puzzled Indian.
“Yes, you have paid your debt, Natachee.”
The fire of savage exultation flamed in the red man’s eyes.
“Hugh Edwards will take the revenge that I, Natachee, have offered?”
“No.”
The Indian said doubtfully, as if striving for an answer to the thing which puzzled him so:
“There is something in the white man’s heart that is more than hate?”