"No?" the young Indian looked at him and a slow fire smouldered in his eyes.
"White brother liar. Take 'way red man's land, take 'way red man's furs, take 'way red man's wife, give red man fire-water."
Mr. Peniman had come up to hear what the Indian was saying. "That's true," he said gravely, "the white men are setting a bad example to their red brothers, I fear." Then after a moment's pause, "Do you know who that man was, Pashepaho?"
"Red Snake. Heap bad man. Got bad heart. Trade with Indian. Live Santee Sioux."
Joshua Peniman started. "He lives with the Santee Sioux?"
The Indian nodded.
"But he is not an Indian, he's a white man, isn't he?"
"Squaw-man."
For a moment Joshua Peniman stood staring at him, his brain whirling.
A white man—lived with the Santee Sioux! Had evidently recognized—or partly recognized—Nina Carroll! Who could he be? What the relation between him and the departed Carrolls? What could be the meaning of this tangle in which he had involved himself by taking into his custody the friendless child of the white man who had been slain by a Sioux arrow!