They had reached the little camp fire by this time, and he threw some dry sticks on the red coals. As the blaze leaped up and made bright the circle around them, he looked at the stranger and said, bluntly:
“What did Akkomi tell you of her?”
“Akkomi?”
“Yes; the old Indian who went in with you to see her.”
“Oh, that fellow? Some gibberish.”
“I guess he must have said that she looks like you,” decided Overton. “I rather think that was it.”
“Like me! Why—how—” and Mr. Haydon tried to smile away the absurdity of such a fancy.
“For there is a resemblance,” continued the younger man, with utter indifference to the stranger’s confusion. “Of course it may not mean anything—a chance likeness. But it is very noticeable when your hat is off, and it must have impressed the old Indian, who seems to 206 think himself a sort of godfather to her. Yes, I guess that was why he spoke to you.”
“But her—her people? Are there only you and these Indians to claim her? She must have some family—”
“Possibly,” agreed Overton, curtly. “If she ever gets able to answer, you can ask her. If you want to know sooner, there is old Akkomi; he can tell you, perhaps.”