“You increase my interest in you,” said Red Hand. “But it shall be as you wish. Are there any white men in this country?”
“Yes, sir; now and then a white hunter has wandered in here, and down the gorge a mile is the grave of one who lost his life here several years ago.”
Red Hand started, and glanced searchingly into the girl’s face. A strange expression flitted across his own, as he asked:
“How long have you known of that grave in the valley?”
“I first saw it three years ago. I was hunting in the valley, wounded a deer, and he fell near the tree. Did you ever see the grave?”
“Yes, I passed it half an hour ago: you will not let me see your home, then?”
“No; your life might be the forfeit, and I would not have harm come to you. Good-by.”
Without another word the girl threw her rifle across her arm, gave a quick, earnest glance into the face of Red Hand, and walked rapidly up the gulch to soon disappear behind a large bowlder, while Red Hand silently and in wonder gazed after her retreating form.