But I was held fast, and while I struggled came a mighty cry from behind me, “Mary!  Mary!  Mary!” Starling’s Goliath frame pushed by me, and his captors were hurled like pygmies to each side.

The woman was unprepared.  She cried at sight of him with a deep throaty terror that sent the blood to my brain.  Starling would have pressed himself to her, but she put out her unbound arms and fended him away.  And then he stood with his great height bowed and pleaded to her.  I had shrugged at the English for their hard reserve, but when I heard this man I learned again that it is always the dammed torrent that is to be feared.  Even the Indians heard in silence.

The silence lasted.  Never before nor since have I known savages to take the background and let two whites play out a tragedy unchecked.  But now they formed a ring and watched.  They forgot their interest in me and let me go.  I could stand unheeded.  An old man threw tinder on the fire, and we saw each other’s faces as in the searching, red light of a storm.  I watched the cords in Starling’s neck tighten and relax as he talked on and on.

The drama was in pantomime to me, as to the Indians, for the cousins spoke in English.  But I could understand the woman’s face.  She spoke in monosyllables, but I could have pitied any other man for the gulf she put between them by her look.  She was more than scornful; torn and disheveled as she was, she was cruelly radiant, her eyes black-lined and her lips hard.  She was unassailable.  And when she met her kinsman’s eye I gloried in her till I could have laid my cheek on the ground at her feet.

It was plain they were kinsmen.  I had marked the strange blood resemblance between them when I first saw the man, and it was doubly to be noted now.  It was blood against blood as they faced each other.  And it came to me that it was more than a personal duel.  No wrong is so unforgivable as one from our own family whose secret weaknesses we know and share, and I felt that the repulsion in the woman’s eyes was part for herself and part for her pride of race.  Yet I was uncertain of the issue.  The tie of blood is strong, and after a few minutes I thought that Starling was gaining ground.  His great personality enwrapped us all, and his strange, compelling voice went on and on and on, pleading, pleading in a tongue that I could not understand.  His eyes never left the woman’s, and in time hers fell.  I tried to clench my bound hands, for my pride in her was hurt; yet I could understand his power.

It was just then that the savages wearied of the spectacle and hustled Starling away.  They saw that he was English, and they unbound his arms, and began to take counsel concerning him.  In a flash I saw my path clear.  They were friendly to the English.  The woman was English.  I must not let her identify herself with me.  And so when her glance crept back to me, I was prepared.  I would not stop to read what her look might say.  I shook my head at her and dropped my eyes.  I made the same signal to Singing Arrow.  The Indian would understand my motive; I could not be sure about the woman.