"Taper—hell!" cried Bettles, "If you taper off, you taper on agin. I know. The way to quit is to quit."
"We'll figger that out," laughed Camillo, "The
best way is to ask the doc. I'll tend to that, an' I'll get a guard hired, an' see about grub an' tools and stuff. We'll meet here a week from tonight an' pull the deal off, an' Swiftwater he can go along fer guide—only you don't want to let him see you. I'll get guards that he don't know, an' that don't know him. We'll have to pay 'em pretty good, but it's worth it."
Old Bettles nodded: "He was a damn good man, onct."
"An' he'll be agin'!" exclaimed Camillo, "If he lives through it. His heart's right."
And so they parted, little thinking that when they would gather for the carrying out of their scheme, Brent would have disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowed him up.
CHAPTER IX
SNOWDRIFT RETURNS TO THE BAND
As Snowdrift plodded mile after mile, in her flight from the mission, her brain busied itself with her problem, and the first night beside her little campfire she laid her plans for the future. In her heart was no bitterness against old Wananebish—only compassion that resolved itself into an intense loyalty and a determination to stay with her and to lighten the burden that the years were heaping upon her. For she knew of the old woman's intense love for her, and the hardships she willingly endured to keep her in school at the mission. The blame was the white man's blame—the blame of the man who was her father.
Her face burned hot and her eyes flashed as her hatred of white men grew upon her. Gladly would she have opened her veins and let out the last drop of white blood that coursed the length of them. At least she could renounce the white man's ways—his teachings, and his very language. From now on she was Indian—and yet, again came that fleet