"Why?"

Jean knew why, but she wanted to hear what the Indian had to say.

"White man find Seff dead by ribber. White man act funny, much 'fraid.
Bimeby find babby gone. White man much mad."

He paused, picked up his musket which he had laid aside, and examined
the priming.

"Did you see them?" Jean asked.

"A-ha-ha. Sam see'm. White man no see Sam."

"Are they coming this way?"

"A-ha-ha."

"Will you shoot them?"

"Sam shoot bimeby, mebbe. White man no ketch babby."

Of this Jean had no doubt. What a tower of strength this Indian seemed
to her just then. The day before she had given up all hope of earthly
aid, yet here was one, and a native at that, who was ready to protect
her. How wonderful it all appeared. And it was against men of her own
race he would defend her. Of the savage Indian she had heard and read
much. But here were two of the despised race putting white men to
shame.