“Father, why is it you so hate your race?” the girl asked. “Tell me why you hide away from our own people?”
“Pearl, never dare to question my actions again,” almost shrieked the old man.
Then he continued:
“You have food in plenty, clothes to wear, and what more do you want? Here no one molests us, and in the settlements and cities life is a continual struggle and all men are evil. Against all men I have a hate that will go with me to the grave. Pearl, you know my vow, and I repeat it: I will kill, or cause to be killed, every white man that comes into these hills.”
Pearl gazed upon the excited face of her father with a feeling of awe, and, accustomed to be wholly governed by him, she made no reply. After a little the old man walked up to the bodies of the dead Indians and examined them attentively. Then he said:
“Pearl, these redskins belong to the band of the young chief, White Slayer. Can he have ordered this attack on you?”
“I am sure I don’t know,” she answered; “but I do know they rushed upon me to make me a prisoner. I fled to that ledge for safety, and shot two of their number. Had not the brave man who has just left us come to my rescue, I should have been killed, I am certain.”
“Strange, very strange,” he declared. “Did you have any words with White Slayer when he was last at the retreat?”
“I told him I would never become his wife.”
The man looked startled.