“Oh, yes, and write. You will find books in the cabin to read. Don’t feel bad, for you shall not be harmed, for Death Face says so. I will come again.”
He wheeled his horse and rode rapidly away, leaving Lucille wondering at her strange Indian acquaintance.
Walking over to the graves under the ridge, Lucille saw that there were four of them, all marked by rude wooden crosses, but it was too dark to see the names, and she hastened back to the cabin, where Yellow Bird had her supper ready.
It was a tempting repast, and eaten with real relish, Lucille talking the while to the squaw and asking her about the young chief, Death Face.
Yellow Bird had little more to tell her than what she had already known, or would not tell her more. She did not say that all the maidens in the village were in love with the young chief, but that he seemed to care for none of them.
The firelight was the only light they had in the cabin, and Lucille asked the woman to bring in wood enough to burn all night.
This Yellow Bird did, and then the captive spread some bedding, put the serapes the chief had given her over them, and retired for the night, bolting the doors firmly.
Yellow Bird spread her bed in front of the fire, and the two were soon fast asleep.
When Lucille awoke the next morning she found Yellow Bird was getting breakfast, and the squaw told her that the young chief had been there early and left bear and other robes for her, dressed deerskins, and plenty of game and fish which he had shot and caught.
The outlaw came after breakfast and asked her how she was, and then said: