As Jim turned to leave the teepee, Mary, the shy girl, handed him a sheet of paper on which was fastened a number of minute fragments of a letter, discolored and dingy, but neatly joined together. He read the following written in a feminine hand:

“Dear Alfred:

“⁠—not state⁠—coming home. I hope⁠—back with⁠—fortune⁠—went to find. —horrible Indians⁠—that savage squaw girl⁠—get your scalp. —careful of⁠—half-blood lover who⁠—gunfight would⁠—I am waiting⁠—trousseau all ready⁠—anxious for the time⁠—Do come soon as⁠—and do not⁠—trouble. —game is worth⁠—if⁠—can get her money. —be caref⁠—uneasy about⁠—

“Where did you get this?” asked Jim, his eyes kindling.

“On the river bank among the pines, near the old log where the fishing is good. I was there as the morning broke.”

“Did you get all the pieces?”

“Because of the Swa-lah-kin, the wind had been strong. I picked up all that I could find, for they were scattered wide. I saw the Shoyahpee’s name and⁠—”

“Did you show this to Cogewea?” Jim interrupted.

“No! only to you. Cogewea has not seen.”

“Have you told the Stemteemä?”

“The Stemteemä’s ears have heard, for I have translated it to her. She sent me to bring you.”

“Julia and John, do they know?”

“It was not for them! They might not understand.”

“Tell no one! Leave it to the best rider of the Flathead to take care of Sis and this dam’ snake in the grass. Where is the little gal?”

“I saw her leave with the Shoyahpee in the direction of the river pines soon after dinner.”

Jim swore under his breath and chewed furiously at his moustache. Folding and pocketing the paper, he left the lodge, walking rapidly toward the river. His impulse had been to follow the lovers and confront Densmore with the telltale letter, but upon cooler reflection he thought better of it. Retracing his steps, he went to the corral, roped and saddled his horse and rode to a distant field to look after some stock recently brought in. Cogewea was amply able to care for herself for the present, and it would be some pleasure to keep out of the way for a day or two and “let that there poor fool tenderfoot think the herd is a comin’ his way over a greased trail.”

In the meantime Cogewea and Densmore had strolled along the river until they came to the friendly old log, where the anger of the sun-god had been so unwittingly provoked. He had been more persistent in pressing his suit, but she was still exasperatingly coquettish. He proposed sitting on the log.

“All right!” she answered, “but you have first to agree that you will not again bring trouble by bothering a frog. I do not fancy another such drenching. Besides, the next time a tree might fall on us, or maybe lightning strike us.”

Densmore laughed and declared that he had no further desire to pose as a rainmaker, as there was a far more fascinating subject than frogs and possible storms to engage his attention.

“Cogewea!” he said, seating himself at her side, “how much longer are you going to put me off? I have offered you a home and all that wealth can bring you; and I am willing to have a minister or priest officiate at our nuptials, if you prefer, although I think the Indian mode far more romantic. I like it better.”

“Should I say ‘yes,’ would you dare take me East among your people? Would you take me on a honeymoon trip as do the white people?”

Her eyes were looking inquiringly into his own. Densmore’s restless gaze turned to the river as he answered:

“Why sure! little⁠—ah⁠—sweetheart. But don’t you believe that it would be more pleasant to wait till spring for such a tour?”

“Hardly! A visit to the cities is far preferable during the winter months. When spring comes with its bird-carols and renewed life, I want to be in the open where God and the sunshine are in evidence. If there is ever a season for the smothered stuffy city, it is winter; when the reek and slime is hidden by a charitable blanket of snow. Do you know, when I was back there in school I often thought, when watching the powdery flakes floating downward in such darkening masses that perhaps it was down from angel wings, mercifully scattered to blot out for a period the unsightly wreck of nature’s grand old forests, converted into whiskey barrels, miserable boardwalks and sewage drains.”

“Listen, Cogewea! Don’t go off on one of your dream flights. Let’s get married and then plan our outing as you wish. Only I think it would be best to⁠—”

“Postpone any city visits indefinitely,” she added as he hesitated. “Why don’t you speak your mind and say that it would be ‘awfully embarrassing’ to take me among your relatives and friends?”

“Cogewea,” exclaimed Densmore in an injured tone, “I am sorry that you entertain such thoughts of me. At the end of two months we could start on a grand tour of all eastern cities.”

“And why not wait till then to be married? Why this hurry?”

“Why do you wish to delay?” he asked, taking her hand. “Are you afraid of me? Do you doubt the sincerity of my word?”

Pausing a moment, Cogewea stopped and picked a handful of the first fallen autumn leaves from the ground. She let them slip through her fingers as she spoke:

“See, Alfred! the leaves have fallen and are returning to dust. The beauty of their present life has passed forever. Youth gone, seared and lifeless, they lay at our feet⁠—lopped and cast down⁠—as a love discarded for another of fairer hue. Having for a time served as a pleasurable bower for the loiterer by the wayside, they are now to be trampled underfoot! like the Indian woman of long ago⁠—when the white man came with his luring voice and weaned her from her people⁠—only to be disdained for a mate of his own kind; abandoned her little half-blood papooses, outcasts and nameless to the world. Yet, still we never seem to understand the Shoyahpee enough to be cautious of him.”

Densmore’s lips grew compressed and a gleam of scorn came into his eyes. He felt bitter resentment but with an effort he suppressed the sarcastic retort already framed. This girl of moods was to be humored, if won to his schemes.

“Cogewea, why do you so seriously and constantly remind me of a possible few questionable deals suffered by your people at the hands of the white man? There are bad individuals among all races, but the things of the past should be forgotten. People change and advance! They are different now and far more cultured than in the days to which you allude. The Indian is civilized and almost on a social and business level with his Caucasian neighbor. Why should I be ashamed to take a girl of pure American blood, a half-blood girl of refined taste and education?”

Cogewea remained silent and abstracted, her gaze fixed on the stream glinting in the sunbeams. Densmore took the other small, brown hand from the log where it was digging into the moss and continued:

“I love you, Cogewea! Why don’t you say something? Do not look so startled! Tell me what is wrong; what is in the way?”

He placed his arm about her and attempted to draw her to him. Repelling this advance, the girl lifted her head proudly and although eyes were brimming with tears, her voice was vibrant with sublimity:

“The wrongs of centuries stand between us! The arrogance of a strong race in its questionable conquest of a weaker, though a heroically patriotic nation, has been all too manifest. This spirit of self-superiority is still with you in your every dealing with us. Go into any reservation or bordering towns, into the so-called courts of justice, and there note the contrast in the treatment accorded individuals of the two peoples. The insult to the ‘white lady’ becomes a joke when applied to the ‘red squaw.’ The ‘white gentleman’ goes free in the commission of an offense for which the ‘red buck’ is sent to the penitentiary.50 Can you show me why an Indian should have faith in the Shoyahpee?”

“You are as much of one race as the other! How can you consistently choose the one over the other?”

“Of the two, I prefer the one of the highest honor, the Indian! But why not stay in my own class, the mixed-blood?”

“I surmised as much!” rejoined the Easterner bitterly. “I can not understand why you hang out with that roughneck Jim, whose only accomplishments are rope-throwing, riding and pistol-shooting. Ill-bred and uneducated he is as far beneath⁠—”

“I would not permit my jealousy to lead me to say ignoble things!” interrupted the girl reproachfully. “It might not be safe!”

“I did not mean to be harsh,” was the cautious retrenchment. “But oh! Cogewea! I love you and why should I not be jealous?”

“Jealousy is not born of love!” was the passionate reply. “It is a child of selfishness and distrust; a reflection on the character of the object of your presumed affections, a declaration on your part that you do not have faith, that you do not trust. Love is confiding, divine and elevating; but like a sensitive plant, it must be cherished. Jealousy is poison! a serpent monster, destructive alike to love, happiness and home. Love can no more survive the blighting breath of jealousy than could Pliny the sulphurous fumes of Vesuvius. You want to get that venom out of your system.”

“It is all very well for you to moralize,” was the half-sullen response, “but you do not know the fires which consume my very soul! If you did, you would be more charitable. Leave off pedantry and tell me that you love me, that you will be mine! I have plenty to keep you in⁠—”

“Do not mention wealth! It weighs naught in the balances of actual love. If I thought you were really sincere⁠—that you would never tire of me, never discard me because of my Indian blood⁠—then I might talk to you differently. I hardly understand why you want to postpone any honeymoon trip.”

“I see that your Indian suspicions must be allayed,” he rejoined with a nervous laugh, “and I will tell you, although I had hoped to keep it from you for a time. I have not the ready cash at present, but expect to be possessed of more than we will need within a very short time. We could then, I thought, take our leisure at sight seeing through the East, and possibly cross the waters.”

“Suppose that I could overcome this temporary obstacle of money?” she questioned, as if to test his honesty of purpose.

It was with difficulty that Densmore suppressed his eager anticipation. Nearing the goal of his sordid aspirations, an incautious word might overthrow all. It was with apparent musing that he answered:

“Such a possibility had not entered my mind, and, while I do not relish the idea of you putting up the cash for our bridal tour, it would only be in the nature of a loan; and if such arrangement could add to your happiness, I hardly believe that it should be my part to reject it. How soon could you have the money?”

“Within two weeks, if I decide to do it. I will think it over! If only I knew that it was right, the proper thing to do.”

Again did the wily schemer pause before making reply:

“Of course it is utterly impossible for me to eliminate self-interest, but first is my consideration for your well being. Because of this, and for the reason that I believe that it will be better if I get away from Jim, I trust that you can without serious difficulty, effect the proposed arrangement. Will you not do it?”

“Alfred!” she implored, lifting her eyes beseechingly to his. “Are you really sincere?”

“I only wish that I could do or say more to convince you of my sincerity,” was the bland response. “What special reason have you for doubting me?”

“Oh! I don’t know. I am doing things that I never dreamed! things that I had never expected to do.”

“Then, may I take advantage and ask you to be mine?”

The girl nodded blushingly, with eyes showing confusion.

“Indian ceremony?”

“White, since it is the recognized law.”

“Now may I claim a kiss?”

“Yes, at the altar. Let’s hit the trail! It’s getting late!”

With this, Cogewea gently pushed his hand from her and turned away. Densmore caught her arm:

“Wait a moment! There’s plenty of time! Let’s plan⁠—”

“No, let’s go! Stemteemä will give me the twice over if I stay longer.”

“Oh! do not hurry. We are betrothed and whose business is it how late we are out?”

“That may be all right with white people, but my race is different. Indian parents do not permit their girls to stay out even with their proposed future husbands. If you are to play Injun, you must fall in line! There are no side trails.”

Before the Easterner could protest further, she was gone. Concealing his disappointment, he moved to follow, when a startled look came over his face. In the dust and sand there appeared the innumerable imprints of a small moccasined foot. They were about the spot where he had cast the torn letter, of which not a visage now remained. The fragments had disappeared since the previous evening, when he had noticed them when fishing. For a moment, he stood, mentally cursing his stupidity in not effectively destroying the sheet instead of leaving it exposed to possible detection. But, he reflected, the one terrific storm to which it had been subjected, must evidently have carried away or effaced sufficient of the message to render it unintelligible. He smiled at the memory of the Swa-lah-kin. With this rather hazardous assurance, he hurriedly rejoined Cogewea, who was now some distance on the path.

The two walked homeward, the countenance of the one, now feeling secure of his prey, glowing with subtle selfish satisfaction. The other incapable of guile, radiant in the unbounded happiness of devoted fidelity.

Avoiding the teepee, they approached the veranda. Seated on the steps, Jim and the shy girl were intently scrutinizing an apparent letter, which the foreman unconcernedly folded and pocketed.

Cogewea failed to note Densmore’s perceptible start and Jim’s cynical smile as the eyes of the two rivals met.