He had gathered other wild things from his trips into the wilderness; young bears with which to enliven camp life; young fawns that he had loved and cared for, because of the beauty of eyes and form; even a pair of kittens had been carried by him across into the States, and developed into healthy, marauding panthers. One of these had set its teeth through the flesh of his hand one day ere he could conquer and kill it, and his fawns, cubs and smaller pets had drifted from him back to their forests, or else into the charge of some other prospector who had won their affections.
He remembered them, and the remembrance lent a curious character to the smile in his eyes, as he held out his hand to her.
“I do believe you, for it is only cowards who tell lies; and I don’t believe you’d make a good coward—would you?” 67
She did not answer, but her face flushed with pleasure, and she looked up at him gratefully. He seemed to like that better than words.
“Akkomi called you ‘Girl-not-Afraid,’” he continued. “And if I were a redskin, too, I would look up an eagle feather for you to wear in your hair. I reckon you’ve heard that only the braves dare wear eagle feathers.”
“I know, but I—”
“But you have earned them by your own confession,” he said, kindly, “and some day I may run across them for you. In the meantime, I have only this.”
He held out a beaded belt of Indian manufacture, a pretty thing, and she opened her eyes in glad surprise, as he offered it to her.
“For me? Oh, Dan!—Mr. Overton—I—”
She paused, confused at having called him as the Indians called him; but he smiled understandingly.