Indeed, so relaxed were her nerves that a slight movement in the grass and cat-tail flags near by startled her painfully, making her jump like a fawn.
"Little friend not be 'fraid," said a guttural voice in broken French.
"Little friend not make noise." At a glance she recognized Long-Hair, the Indian, rising out of the matted marsh growth.

It was a hideous vision of embodied cunning, soullessness and murderous cruelty.
"Not tell white man you see me ?" he grunted interrogatively, stepping close to her.

He looked so wicked that she recoiled and lifted her hands defensively.
She trembled from head to foot, and her voice failed her; but she made a negative sign and smiled at him, turning as white as her tanned face could become.
In his left hand he held his bow, while in his right he half lifted a murderous looking tomahawk.
"What new flag mean ?" he demanded, waving the bow's end toward the fort and bending his head down close to hers.

"Who yonder ?" "The great American Father has taken us under his protection," she explained.

"We are big-knives now." It almost choked her to speak.
"Ugh! heap damn fools," he said with a dark scowl.