Next morning, woman-like, she crept noiselessly to the brink of the
heights. Would she see him again--that handsome brave? Would he
speed another arrow to her? She had not yet emerged from the tangle
of forest before it fell, its faint-winged flight heralding its
coming. Near the feathered end was tied a tassel of beautiful
ermine-tails. She took from her wrist a string of shell beads,
fastened it to one of her little arrows, and winged it across the
canyon, as yesterday.

The following morning, before leaving the lodge, she fastened the
tassel of ermine-tails in her straight black hair. Would he see
them? But no arrow fell at her feet that day, but a dearer message
was there on the brink of the precipice. He himself awaited her
coming--he who had never left her thoughts since that first arrow
came to her from his bow-string. His eyes burned with warm fires,
as she approached, but his lips said simply: "I have crossed the
Tulameen River." Together they stood, side by side, and looked down
at the depths before them, watching in silence the little torrent
rollicking and roystering over its boulders and crags.

"That is my country," he said, looking across the river. "This
is the country of your father, and of your brothers; they are my
enemies. I return to my own shore to-night. Will you come with me?"

She looked up into his handsome young face. So this was her
father's foe--the dreaded Tulameen!

"Will you come?" he repeated.

"I will come," she whispered.