“June, friend,” returned the Indian woman.

“I believe you, June —­ from my soul I believe you; what has this to do with your visit?”

“Friend come to see friend,” answered June, again smiling openly in the other’s face.

“There is some other reason, June, else would you never run this risk, and alone.  You are alone, June?”

“June wid you, no one else.  June come alone, paddle canoe.”

“I hope so, I think so —­ nay, I know so.  You would not be treacherous with me, June?”

“What treacherous?”

“You would not betray me, would not give me to the French, to the Iroquois, to Arrowhead?”

June shook her head earnestly.

“You would not sell my scalp?”

Here June passed her arm fondly around the slender waist of Mabel and pressed her to her heart with a tenderness and affection that brought tears into the eyes of our heroine.  It was done in the fond caressing manner of a woman, and it was scarcely possible that it should not obtain credit for sincerity with a young and ingenuous person of the same sex.  Mabel returned the pressure, and then held the other off at the length of her arm, looked her steadily in the face, and continued her inquiries.

“If June has something to tell her friend, let her speak plainly,” she said.  “My ears are open.”

“June ’fraid Arrowhead kill her.”

“But Arrowhead will never know it.”  Mabel’s blood mounted to her temples as she said this; for she felt that she was urging a wife to be treacherous to her husband.  “That is, Mabel will not tell him.”

“He bury tomahawk in June’s head.”

“That must never be, dear June; I would rather you should say no more than run this risk.”

“Blockhouse good place to sleep, good place to stay.”

“Do you mean that I may save my life by keeping in the blockhouse, June?  Surely, surely, Arrowhead will not hurt you for telling me that.  He cannot wish me any great harm, for I never injured him.”

“Arrowhead wish no harm to handsome pale-face,” returned June, averting her face; and, though she always spoke in the soft, gentle voice of an Indian girl, now permitting its notes to fall so low as to cause them to sound melancholy and timid.  “Arrowhead love pale-face girl.”

Mabel blushed, she knew not why, and for a moment her questions were repressed by a feeling of inherent delicacy.  But it was necessary to know more, for her apprehensions had been keenly awakened, and she resumed her inquiries.

“Arrowhead can have no reason to love or to hate me,” she said.  “Is he near you?”

“Husband always near wife, here,” said June, laying her hand on her heart.

“Excellent creature!  But tell me, June, ought I to keep in the blockhouse to-day —­ this morning —­ now?”

“Blockhouse very good; good for women.  Blockhouse got no scalp.”