Something that was boyish and hopeful--and in its place slowly rose the dark tide of his inheritance, the savage instinct of self-preservation bequeathed by his Indian mother, and the fierce, feudal blood lust of his Texan father.
Then as he raised himself, gripped by a sickening coldness in his breast, he remembered Ellen Jorth's face as she had gazed dreamily down off the Rim--so soft, so different, with tremulous lips, sad, musing, with far-seeing stare of dark eyes, peering into the unknown, the instinct of life still unlived.

With confused vision and nameless pain Jean thought of her.
"Dad, it's hard on--the--the young folks," he said, bitterly.

"The sins of the father, you know.

An' the other side.

How about Jorth?
Has he any children ?" What a curious gleam of surprise and conjecture Jean encountered in his father's gaze! "He has a daughter.