“No, father; lower your knife, for not half an hour ago this man saved my life—see?”
The girl addressed as Pearl pointed to the dead bodies of her Indian enemies.
“Ha! You were in danger, Pearl, and he saved you?”
The man spoke in earnest tones, and turned his gaze again upon Red Hand, who had stepped back at the approach of the girl, yet still held his knife ready for defense.
“Yes, father; this brave man rescued me when those Sioux would have taken my life.”
“True, I did assist the girl, after she had already sent two of the red devils to their happy hunting grounds; but if you have anything against me, comrade, let not that act of mine stand in the way, for twice you have attempted my life now.”
Red Hand spoke in a reckless, determined tone, peculiar to him when much moved. The stranger turned his gaze upon the man he had attacked, and something he saw there seemed to trouble him deeply, for he passed his hand across his face, muttering, as if communing with the past.
“Yes, it is his face—no, it cannot be—ha, the red hand!”
He staggered back a step or two, while the girl sprang to his side, crying:
“Father, are you ill?”