Let her point out the white father." Shyly but unhesitatingly Whispering Winds laid her hand Jim's arm.
"Missionary, begone!" came the chieftain's command.

"Thank Wingenund's daughter for your life, not the God of your Christians!" He waved his hand to the runner.

The brave grasped Jim's arm.
"Good-by, Joe," brokenly said Jim.
"Old fellow, good-by," came the answer.
They took one last, long look into each others' eyes.

Jim's glance betrayed his fear--he would never see his brother again.

The light in Joe's eyes was the old steely flash, the indomitable spirit--while there was life there was hope.
"Let the Shawnee chief paint his prisoner black," commanded Wingenund.
When the missionary left the lodge with the runner, Whispering Winds had smiled, for she had saved him whom she loved to hear speak; but the dread command that followed paled her cheek.