“No, no! you have ever been such.”
The Spanish sword leaped from the gilded scabbard, and Tom Kyle sprung forward with an oath.
“Girl, curse you! I can find a wife in the next train, or the Gold Girl—”
His vengeful sentence was broken by the entrance of an Indian, and the renegade found himself hurled to the furthest part of the lodge.
“Kenoagla would kill Gold Girl!” cried the new-comer, snatching Lina Aiken from Mabel’s embrace. “Gold Girl belong to Red Eagle. Kenoagla die if he touches her!”
“Leave me Lina, Red Eagle,” cried Mabel, springing to her feet, to be met by the broad palm of the Pawnee chief.
“No, no, Gold Girl Red Eagle’s; dark girl Kenoagla’s. The sisters meet often in Pawnee lodges. Gold Girl must go to chief’s wigwam; she still sleeps.”
With a painful groan Mabel Denison sunk back and dropped into her father’s arms.
At this juncture the renegade regained his feet, and came forward, gritting his teeth with rage.
“Who, in the name of the furies—”