In a little coulee some distance short of Sleeping Thunder's camp, they came suddenly upon Moon.
She was alone. In her richest dress, she made a striking picture—the picture of an ideal Indian princess—calm, strong, beautiful. They greeted her solemnly. As Hector dismounted, she turned to Loud Gun.
"Go over the ridge there," she said, "and wait till I come."
The tone was pitilessly cold. Loud Gun bowed his head submissively and departed without a word.
They were alone, the Indian woman and the white man, face to face.
Moon began.
"You wonder why I sent for you? Perhaps you think I step beyond the rights of squaws?"
Something of her dignity was gone. She smiled wistfully.
"I do wonder why you sent for me, Moon," responded Hector. "But that is all."
There was an awkward pause.