brought back to the chief the old days when Indian women tanned bearskins
and deerskins day in, day out, and made pemmican of the buffalo-meat;
when the years were filled with hunting and war and migrant journeyings
to fresh game-grounds and pastures new.

Danger faced was the one thing which could restore Tekewani's self-
respect, after he had been checked and rebuked before his tribe by the
Indian Commissioner for being drunk. Danger faced had restored it, and
Fleda Druse had brought the danger to him as a gift.

If the canoe should crash against the piers of the bridge, if it should
drift to the cataract below, if anything should happen to this white girl
whom he worshipped in his heathen way, nothing could preserve his self-
respect; he would pour ashes on his head and firewater down his throat.

Suddenly he and his braves stood still. They watched as one would watch
an enemy a hundred times stronger than one's self. The white man's skiff
was near the derelict canoe; the bridge was near also. Carillon now
lined the bank of the river with its people. They ran upon the bridge,
but not so fast as to reach the place where, in the nick of time, Ingolby
got possession of the rolling canoe; where Fleda Druse lay waiting like a
princess to be waked by the kiss of destiny.

Only five hundred yards below the bridge was the second cataract, and she
would never have waked if she had been carried into it.

To Ingolby she was as beautiful as a human being could be as she lay with
white face upturned, the paddle still in her hand.

"Drowning isn't good enough for her," he said, as he fastened her canoe