Nothing loath, Diane promptly tethered her horse and squatted Indian
fashion by the cartwheel fire, immensely thrilled and diverted by her
picturesque adventure.
"My name," she offered presently with her ready smile, "is Diane."
"Di-ane," said the Indian girl majestically. And added naively, "She
was the Roman goddess of light--and of hunting, is it not so?"
Diane looked very blank.
"Where in the world--" she stammered, staring, and colored.
The Indian girl smiled.
"From _so_ high," she said shyly, "I have been taught by Mic-co. Like
the white student of books, I know many curious things that he has
taught me."
"And your name?" asked Diane, heroically mastering her mystified
confusion. "May I--may I not know that too?"
"Shock-kil-law," came the ready reply.
"That readily becomes Keela!" exclaimed Diane smiling.
The girl nodded.
"So Mic-co has said. And so indeed he calls me."
"Tell me, Keela, what does it mean?"
"Red-winged blackbird," said Keela.
It was eminently fitting, thought Diane, and glanced at Keela's hair
and cheeks.
There was a wild duck roasting in the hub of coals--from the burning
spokes came the smell of cedar. The Indian girl majestically broke a
segment of koonti bread and proffered it to her companion.
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