He scanned her face for a moment as if to note how this
quick call to grim tragedy affected her. A man of courage
himself, he instantly read there possibilities of a very
high order and exceptional nerve. There was nothing
neurotic about her. Whatever the wayward imaginings of
her heart might be, she was a fresh, wholesome and healthy
daughter of the prairie, one whose nerves were in accord
with her mind and body, one for whom there were no physical
or imaginary bogeys.

"It won't frighten you, will it, if we have to turn this
kitchen into a sort of shooting gallery?" he asked.

She smiled at the very familiarity with which he handled
his subject.

"It will be unpleasant," she replied simply, "but you
know I'm accustomed to rifles."

"You don't seem to realise what a rising means amongst
savages," he continued. "You must never lose your head,
whatever happens, and you must never trust any one outside
your own family circle. You must never let yourself fall
into their hands; you understand me?"

"I understand," she said, facing him unflinchingly, "and
I have my rifle in case of emergencies."

"You are stronger than I thought," he said thankfully,