The Indian at his cry arose and for one long second shook, almost in his face as he came running up, the long, shining, yellow hair with the gory patch at the end.

Before his staring eyes, the hair was twisting, writhing, and undulating,--like a golden flame licking the bronzed arm that held it.
And then, as he reached the spot, the Indian, with a long yell of delight and a final flourish of his trophy, ran off to other prizes.
He stood a moment, breathless and faint, looking with fearful eyes down at the little, limp, still figure at his feet.

One slender, bare arm was flung out as if she had grasped at the whole big earth in her last agony.
The spell of fear was broken by the boy, who came trotting up.

He had given way to his tears now, and was crying loudly from fright.

Joel made him take the little girl and sit under a cedar out of sight of the spot..