“An Indian squaw.”
And Bradford continued to laugh as though greatly amused.
“Squaw!” Ross answered in a tone of deep disgust. “She’s no squaw—not a half-breed, even. She’s a vision of loveliness. If she be mortal, she’s a pure Caucasian. Who is she?”
“Tenskwatawa’s daughter,” replied Bradford, his bright eyes twinkling mischievously.
“The Prophet’s daughter—bah!” was the scornful rejoinder. “Do you expect me to believe so transparent a falsehood? Do you think me blind? She’s a Caucasian, I tell you. Her eyes, her complexion, her hair—all indicate the fact.”
“You forget there are red-headed Indians,” Bradford suggested.
“I forget nothing. I have seen red-haired savages. But their complexions were swarthy, their eyes black.”
“And I’ve seen them fair, with blue eyes and auburn hair.”
“They were of mixed blood, then,” Douglas said positively.