"And must I cut it off? I'll make my head as smooth as yonder
bald-headed mountain-peak if it'll keep you from crying. Course
you ain't seen nobody with whiskers amongst them Indians, but THEY
ain't your people. Your people is white, they are like me, they
grows hair. But I'll shave and paint myself red, and hunt for
feathers, if that's what you want."

Her sobbing grew less violent. Despite his ferocious aspect, no
fear could remain in her heart at sight of that distressed
countenance, at sound of those conciliatory tones. Willock,
observing that the tempest was abating, continued in his most
appealing manner:

"I'm going to do whatever you say, honey, and you're going to be
the queen of the cove. Ain't you never been lonesome amongst all
them red devils? Ain't you missed your poor mammy as died crossing
the plains? It was me that buried her. Ain't you never knowed how
it felt to want to lay your head on somebody's shoulder and slip
your little arms about his neck, and go to sleep like an angel
whatever was happening around? I guess SO! Well, that's me, too.
Here I've been for two long year, never seeing nothing but wild
animals or prowling savages till the last few months when a settler
comes to them mountains seven mile to the southwest. Looked like
I'd die, sometimes, just having myself to entertain."

"You lonesome, too?" said the girl, looking up incredulously. She
drew a step nearer, a wistful light in her dark eyes.

The man stretched out his arms and dropped them to his side,
heavily. "Like that," he cried--"just emptiness!"