"I am certain. He has never given the least sign that he cares for me
more than if I were an ordinary acquaintance. But he is a gentleman
both in word and action."

For a few minutes Jim Weston stood lost in thought. It seemed to Glen
as if he would never speak. The silence of the room was so intense
that she was sure her fast-beating heart could be distinctly heard.

"I must have time to think this over, Glen," her father at length
informed her. "You may go now and get ready for supper. Nannie has
been kept waiting too long already."

Never before had Glen heard her father speak to her in such a cold,
peremptory manner. Slowly she rose to her feet and walked across the
room. Her head was aching, and she was glad to get away, anywhere in
order that she might be alone, and from her father's stern, accusing
eyes.

She had almost reached the door, when Sconda stood suddenly before her.
She paused, while the Indian entered and walked at once toward his
master.

"Well, Sconda, what is it?" the latter demanded, annoyed at the
native's intrusion at this critical moment. "Anything wrong?"

Weston spoke in the Indian language, with which he was most familiar.

"Big White Chief," Sconda began, "the Golden Crest has been crossed.
Another white man is here."