environment and ancestry, held close to barbarism all her life. The
man who mated with her would be dragged down to her level.

Two hundred three, four, five.... How game she had been! She had
played it out like a thoroughbred, even to telling her father that he
was to use the horsewhip in punishing her. He had never before seen a
creature so splendid or so spirited. Squaw or no squaw, he took off
his hat to her.

The sun had climbed the hilltop when Morse wakened.

"Come an' get it!" Barney the cook was yelling at him.

Bully West had changed his mind about not going to the
buffalo-hunter's camp.

"You 'n' Brad'll stay here, Barney, while me 'n' Tom are gone," he
gave orders. "And you'll keep a sharp lookout for raiders. If any one
shows up that you're dubious of, plug him and ask questions afterward.
Un'erstand?"

"I hear ye," replied Barney, a small cock-eyed man with a malevolent
grin. "An' we'll do just that, boss."

Long before the traders reached it, the camp of the buffalo-hunters
advertised its presence by the stench of decaying animal matter.
Hundreds of hides were pegged to the ground. Men and women, squatting
on their heels, scraped bits of fat from the drying skins. Already a
train of fifty Red River carts[3] stood ready for the homeward start,
loaded with robes tied down by means of rawhide strips to stand the