“All right,” replied Lydia, “and of course, you’re just like a brother to me.”

“Oh, I don’t feel so brotherly as—­Gee, there’s a fire, Lydia!”

Faintly through the trees gleamed a distant blaze.  The two jumped to their feet and, weariness forgotten, started hastily toward it.

“It’s the camp crowd, I guess,” said Lydia.

“No, it isn’t, it’s a bunch of men,” corrected Kent.  “Hold on a minute, Lydia.  Let’s see what we’re getting into.”

He pulled her into the shelter of a giant pine trunk and the two peered at the group around the fire.

“Some kind of an Indian pow-wow, half breeds, mostly,” whispered Kent.

Lydia shivered.  “Don’t they look fierce in the firelight,” she murmured.  “Let’s get out of here, Kent.”

“Shucks!  Be a sport, Lyd!  We’ll watch them a minute, then I’ll brace up and speak to ’em.”

There were six half breeds in “store” clothes and moccasins squatting around the blaze.  None of them was speaking.

“They act as if they were waiting for some one,” whispered Lydia, with some of the old thrill of pirate plays returning to her.  “Kent, they’ve all got guns!”

“Hush!  There comes some one else.  For the love of cats!”

John Levine emerged from the darkness of the forest into the fire glow.

“How!” he grunted, slipping into an empty space, opposite the two eavesdroppers.

“How,” returned the Indians.

Silence in the woods, except for the crackling fire.

“Kent, let’s go!  I don’t want to listen, I don’t want to know.”  The cold sweat was standing on Lydia’s forehead.

Kent seized her arm.  “You’ve got to stay.  It’s your business to know,” he whispered sharply.

“Where’s Eagle’s Feather?” asked Levine.

“Sick,” replied an Indian.

John nodded.  “I got back from Washington today.  Big fight there.  Marshall and his crowd, they’ll make a big fight.  I may have to compromise.  I may make my bill read, only mixed bloods can sell their lands, not full bloods.”

“Good!” said an Indian.  “Full blood don’t want to sell, anyhow.”

“Better for you mixed bloods,” agreed Levine, “because you’ll get higher prices for your land, but worse for us whites, for there’ll be less land, unless—­you mixed bloods should happen to swear the full bloods are mixed too.”

No one spoke for a minute, then a fat, yellow-faced half-breed laughed.  “I’ll swear old Chief Dawn had a white great-grandmother.  I’ll get even with him, for throwing me out of the council.”

“Exactly,” said Levine.  “It’ll be a good way for all of you to pay up old debts.  Any of Marshall’s men been up here lately?”

After a pause, one of the younger Indians said, “Some young fellows been going through the woods measuring out a road and they acted like they was just out for a vacation when any one was around.  A year ago I see one of the fellows riding out with Marshall.”