"Listen, Moon," he said. "No-one will ever know that this has passed between us. There is no shame in this for you. I hold you too highly ever to grant this prayer of yours. It is not right. Your father said that white men and red cannot live together as man and wife in happiness. There are many Indian warriors, good men, brave and true, who love you. There is Loud Gun—"
"I do not love him!" she flashed.
"There is Loud Gun," he repeated remorselessly. "He loves you. Marry him—and forget me. I will always be your friend, Moon—"
"I cannot forget you. I love you," she persisted.
He shook his head.
"You must. Be sure, you will be happy with him. We must not meet again."
"Pity me!" she whispered.
He turned blindly and heedlessly to his horse.
"Pity me!" she almost shrieked.
But he was mounted now. And, as she flung out a desperate hand, he touched his horse with the spur.