The young warrior spoke with a dignity and politeness that seemed natural to him.
“No; White Slayer is false to me. Why did he attempt to carry the Pearl of my heart from her cabin home?” angrily replied the white man, whom the Indians called Gray Chief.
A flush stole into the red face of the young chief at the charge. For a moment he was silent, but then said earnestly:
“The heart of the White Slayer is not here in his bosom, but with the paleface maiden on the hill. She is the dewdrop that refreshes his life, yet she turns her eyes from the White Slayer, though he is the chief of his tribe.”
“All true, chief; but did you expect to win the girl by force?”
“Could the White Slayer use his arms toward the Pearl of the Hills?” indignantly said the Indian.
“Yet you sent five of your braves to take my Pearl captive.”
“Would the Gray Chief trifle with White Slayer, or does he speak with a false tongue?” said the chief.
Glancing into the Indian’s face, the old man read there only truth, and felt that he had not ordered the violence done to Pearl. Then in a few words he told the young chief all that had occurred. With a surprised frown White Slayer heard him through.