“Yes, at home!” repeated Lucille, with sarcasm, to add quickly:
“But it is so much better than I expected, you have treated me so much differently than I anticipated, that I thank you.”
The moment that she was left alone by the outlaw, and she saw him and his braves ride away, Lucille Fallon yielded to the prerogative of a woman, and, seating herself in the cabin, burst into tears.
“At home! Ah! if this were to be my home, I would rather that the grave should be,” she cried bitterly.
She had totally forgotten about the Indian woman until she heard the gently uttered words:
“Don’t cry, paleface.”
She started to her feet, for she was too proud to wish any one to see her weeping.
Before her stood Yellow Bird, the half-breed Indian woman. She had tidied herself up, and had a bundle under her arms. Her face was a good one, not cruel, and she said again:
“Don’t cry, Yellow Bird be good to you.”
Lucille stepped forward and grasped the woman’s hand.