The girl turned upon him suddenly, with wide-open eyes.
“What does Long Hair mean? What is this dead paleface to her?”
“That Long Hair may not tell thee, oh, White Antelope. Trust him——”
“Trust a paleface!”
“Trust one who has given you back to your father when he might have taken your life, or held you prisoner.”
“Aye, Long Hair, thou didst that. It is true.”
“And believe me,” the scout said, more earnestly still, in English, not wishing the other Indians to understand; “this dead paleface whom even the great chief Oak Heart admired for his bravery, is more to the White Antelope than she knows. The time will come when I can explain all to you, girl—but not now!”
“What’s that?” demanded Boyd Bennett, stepping forward. “What’s this foolishness you are telling the girl?”
But the White Antelope haughtily waved him back.
“Let the Death Killer stand away. The chief’s daughter can care for herself. And let not one of these dead palefaces be further disturbed. It is my will!”