"Then how could good come of such a union? We do not love; and even if we did, your words were truth, Sleeping Thunder. The red man's ways are not our ways. How could she be happy in our life, among our people?"
"There are squaw men among you."
Hector had foreseen the interruption.
"Yes, but do they treat their wives as they should? You know they do not. They make slaves of them and when they are tired or they fall in love with a white woman, they cast them off. I could not do that and would not. But, aside from this, the girl would not be happy. My people—they would look on her with contempt. And as the years went by and cities came where the prairies are desolate today, life would become intolerable for her. You know that is true."
The chief's head had fallen lower still.
"It is true," he whispered.
"I would give my right hand rather than that this should have happened. It cannot be—you know it, Sleeping Thunder."
The old man raised his head suddenly and looked up at the towering young form. He smiled sadly.
"It is true," he answered. "I will say no more."
The night swallowed them.