"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."
"I know it," was the curt reply. "He came by water this time, so I
understand."
"Not by water, Big White Chief, but through the pass, over Crooked
Trail."
"He did! Why, Glen, you told me he came by way of the lake. Have you
been deceiving me, girl?"
"Indeed I have not," was the emphatic and somewhat angry denial. "I am
surprised that you think I would deceive you, daddy. Sconda refers to
someone else. It is Curly who came by the pass, and not Mr.
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