The spirits had been good.

They had not let her grow old, but had kept her still beautiful.

And Sun Cloud, her little daughter, was beautiful, and Slim Buck was more than ever her god among men, and her people were happy.

And all this she owed to the man who was sleeping under the gloom of the sky outside, the hunted man, the outlaw, "the little boy grown up"-- Jolly Roger McKay.
As she listened, and stared up at the smoke hole, strange spirits were whispering to her, and Yellow Bird's blood ran a little faster and her eyes grew bigger and brighter in the darkness.

They seemed to be accusing her.