That she now looked for death at my hands was perfectly evident, I being dressed as a forest-runner who knows no sex when murder is afoot. I saw the flushed face pale slightly; the lip curl contemptuously. Proudly she lifted her head, haughtily faced me.
"Dog of bastard nation!" she panted; "look me between the eyes and strike!"
"Little sister," I answered gravely, using the soft Oneida idiom, "let there be peace between us."
A flash of wonder lit her dark eyes. And I said again, smiling: "O Heart-divided-into-two-hearts, te-ha-eho-eh, you are like him whom we name, after 'The Two Voices'—we of the Wolf. Therefore is there peace and love 'twixt thee and me."
The wonder in her eyes deepened; her whole body quivered.
"Who are you with a white skin who speak like a crested sachem?" she faltered.
"Tat-sheh-teh, little sister. I bear the quiver, but my war-arrows are broken."
"Oneida!" she exclaimed softly, clasping her hands between her breasts.
I stepped closer, holding out my arms; slowly she laid her hands in mine, looking fearlessly up into my face. I turned her palms upward and placed the naked knife across them; she bent her head, then straightened up, looking me full in the eyes.
Still smiling, I laid both my hands on the collar of my hunting-shirt, baring throat and chest; and, as the full significance of the tiny tattoo dawned upon her, she shivered.