"WHEN A WOMAN WILLS THERE'S NOTHING MORE TO SAY."
Daylight waned, and the shadows deepened. In the west the crimson
flames that flared over the mountains died away, and the night-stars
began to shimmer in their field of blue. A moist, sweet wind came
wandering up from the woods. Edith sat within her little prison-house
alone.
From time to time she heard voices without; but they came to her as
if in a dream. The cold look of the woman had deepened till her face
seemed like crystallized water itself.
But in the frigidity of her eyes was a something that was suggestive
of unfrozen depths beyond. There was no trace of despair--no sign of
intense misery directly arising from her present condition like that
which would have fallen upon some women. Only the traces of a former
congealment were deepened; that was all. And so, she sat there in
silence, thinking. So absorbed in her reverie was she that, apparently,
she did not hear a footstep approaching the matting that did duty as
a door to her cabin, did not notice the tall and graceful form of War
Hawk, as he entered; and only awoke with a start to consciousness at
hearing a voice, remarkably sweet and mild for one belonging to a son
of the forest and plain, addressing her.
"The White Bird is sad, and the War Hawk would comfort her--yet he
is afraid to come before her. She need not fear him. He is a great
warrior, but would not harm her for many lodges and much of all that is
dear to the heart of a warrior. Can the White Bird look upon the War
Hawk with a smile? She will see him as gentle as a fawn, for she is
dear to him, and what she says shall be music in his ear."
Edith suffered her eyes to rest steadily upon her Indian admirer, whose
assumed gentleness could not disguise his stern, unyielding nature. So
the woman thought, though her eye met his unflinching and undaunted.
"The White Bird may be sad, but it is the sadness of years. She asks
neither favor nor kindness from the War Hawk. As she has protected
herself in the past, so she can in the present and the future. She has
been hurt to the heart so long ago that she has no soul for the great
chief. Let him go his way and she will go hers."
The ghost of a smile flitted over the face of the brave at this
request. This conquest of his had not been altogether bloodless, as the
waters of Back Load stream could bear witness.
"The White Bird will grace the wigwam of the War Hawk, and those who
have hurt her heart shall be forgotten. If they come near her again,
let her speak the word and they shall die. This arm will protect her,
and no woman will be more honored among my nation."
Edith looked curiously at the speaker. She measured him with her eye
and gauged his soul as he spoke. Perhaps she could see in this dashing
red-skin something to admire, even though there was nothing for one of
her race to love.
"The White Bird returns her thanks," she said, with a graceful but
sweeping courtesy. "The chief's wooing is rough and his grip is like
steel, but she knows the warriors of his tribe and their ways, and the
War Hawk may well be the greatest among them. He is pleasant to look
upon, and the squaw of his lodge will have the eyes of many maidens
turned upon her in envy; yet the White Bird, as he has chosen to call
her, has no heart for him. Her soul rests with one of her own kindred.
Though she has not seen him for years, and will never meet him again,
yet her heart will ever beat time to him--even though he knows it not,
and little dreams that she still lives. Let the War Hawk seek another;
I am not for him."
"The warriors of our tribe are not used to wooing as are the
pale-faces, and if War Hawk had sought the fair one he loves as our
warriors seek their squaws, she might have thought his grip was
stronger yet. He has handled her tenderly and would ever do so; yet
she should know that she _must_ be his. She is in his hands now, he
will have her taken into his tribe; he will guard her and care for her;
no other shall be so cherished. He has been in danger from her people
and his own for her and life has been lost to win her. Do you think,
then, when he loves her so strongly, that he will open his hand when
she is in it and let her fly away? No. The White Bird must forget her
pale-faced friends--and--" his voice grew harder and colder, and there
was a ring of savage fierceness in it as he spoke--"let her dream of
her pale-faced lover no longer. If she should see him again it would
be to destroy him, for he may not look on your face again and go away
living. The War Hawk will let no eyes rest upon his pale-faced squaw in
love."
Edith Van Payne realized more than ever the depth to which she had
stirred the heart of her dusky-visaged admirer.
"War Hawk, you have wasted time in your pursuit, and you seek what
will never, never be yours. There are fair maidens of your own race;
woo them and win them--me you never can, by either kind words or by
threats. I am protected by the Great Spirit, and neither hope nor fear.
Your pursuit may bring you much of evil--to me it can only bring a new
experience in life. Do not be deceived. I am, and of reason, a mystery
to you, the solution of which it is dangerous for you to attempt."
Perhaps Edith drew herself up rather proudly as she uttered these
words, perhaps there was something, too, of scorn mingled with her
pride, and unintentionally outcropping in her words and gestures,
for War Hawk appeared touched to the quick. He strode a pace
forward and raised his hand with a gesture that might indicate
either impressiveness or menace. The woman only turned sideways and
unflinchingly gazed into his face as he spoke.
"The War Hawk has run many risks for his pale White Bird. He has faced
not only the rifles of her friends, but even now he stands against
the wishes of his tribe. It is not a light thing for a great chief
to choose to bring a pale-face woman into his cabin; but he has seen
something of the world, something of the pale-faces, too, and he will
accomplish his desires. The White Bird has flown away from her people;
they will never see her again. Had they even the courage to follow her,
they would not know in which way to turn their steps. The War Hawk
will say no more this time; but let her think of what he has said, and
perhaps she will yet smile at the coming of the footsteps of the great
chief."
"Let not the Blackfoot brave deceive himself. He is not dealing with a
helpless squaw of his tribe. I can help myself if forsaken by friends.
But I have no fears of that. Their eyes are keen, their limbs are
untiring, and they are already on the trail. You may not see them, or
hear them; but they will be near you, and when the time comes you will
find your White Bird has flitted--if before that the fatal bullet has
not stricken you--"
Without then was the sound of a rapidly-approaching horseman. Edith
paused in her speech as she heard it, and her savage wooer looked
uneasily around him as though he half-feared this hot-haste messenger
might be the bearer of unpleasant tidings. The two, listening, heard
a distant greeting, the sound of beating hoofs ceased, and then the
newcomer, an Indian, inquired for War Hawk. The chief, on hearing this,
made an obeisance and left the cabin as quietly as he had entered it.
Edith Van Payne remained alone. With feminine curiosity she listened
to see if she could not learn what this messenger had to communicate.
She only heard voices speaking in a low and smothered tone, but soon
the conversation became more earnest. Then she sought to gain a view
of the speakers. Circumstances favored her. When she cast her glance
upon them, she saw that preparations for a move of some kind were being
made. In front of the second cabin War Hawk was in close conference
with several of the braves. Nearer to her, in fact within a few paces
of her own wigwam, stood a single savage, holding by the bridles two
horses--one of which she recognized at a glance as Whirlwind, the
favorite steed of War Hawk.
This man stood with his back toward her, his eyes bent in the direction
of the others, evidently more intent upon the conference of his
brethren than upon the movements of the captive girl. The great black
steed, that stood almost unwatched and within, as it were, arm's length
of her, was the fleetest among the fleet horses of the tribe.
Great acts are often the effect of intuition. She tried the fastenings,
and found nothing to hinder her egress. A moment, and she had
noiselessly glided to the side of Whirlwind. A moment more and she had
swung herself upon him, had snatched up the bridle, struck him a sharp
blow across the shoulder--and then, like an arrow, had bounded away
and was sweeping back toward the mountains through which they had just
passed!
The noble steed, to which Edith, practiced horseman that she was, clung
so closely and firmly, had not hesitated a moment. He swung at once
into a pace that was tremendous. His rider retained her seat with ease,
and while urging him to his highest speed, did not for a moment lose
her perfect mastery of him. The other horse had wrenched himself loose
at the time that Whirlwind started, and, bearing no burden, kept neck
and neck with her.
Soon the wild shouts of War Hawk and his allies died away in the
distance. She saw an opening in the hills, the defile of a cañon
looming dark before her; and into its recesses she plunged without a
moment's hesitation. What might be in store for her beyond, in the
lonesome darkness, she neither knew, nor thought of, nor cared for. For
the time at least, Edith Van Payne was free.
The horses seemed to know the road well. At least they stretched out,
plunging on with unfaltering steps into the darkness. Before long the
thrill and thrall of her fear wore off, and, as no savage yells or
echoing hoof-beats resounded behind her, she coolly settled herself to
the work before her. The long twilight had died away, and the moon,
nearly full, was up and shining directly through the narrow road,
doubling the gloom that lay upon the wooded and rocky slopes on each
side,--so that she seemed riding along a path of light laid upon and
through a bed of darkness. Her quick eye ranged along this path, now
and then diving into the darkness upon either side of her; yet seeing
nothing but rocks and trees.
Yet, there was some one near. Not a hundred yards ahead of her, just
in the shade of the trees, his wariness all excited by the noise of
ringing hoof-strokes, Bill Blaze was sitting in his saddle with eyes
strained to catch sight of the person so recklessly approaching. And
when he saw the woman bearing down upon him, the riderless horse
galloping at her side, he could scarce refrain from a shout of triumph
as he recognized in her the object of his search.
"Minks and mushrats!" thought he. "Blam'd ef she _ain't_ Dick Martin's
gal. A trump, by mitey! She's cleaned out the hull b'iling; stampeded
ther corral, an' 's bringin' the pick o' the lot into camp! Bill Blaze
an' her 'll move inter Back Load camp rejoicin'. Waugh!"
When the fast rider was galloping by, she heard at her left a voice,
calling to her in what seemed a guarded tone:
"Hullo, thar! Back Load Trace! Dick Martin! Van Payne! Friends. Hullo!
hold on, friends!"
She looked hastily toward the spot from which the voice proceeded. A
man, evidently a white man and a trapper from his garb, pushed out from
the shadows, and rode toward her.
For a moment she hesitated, undecided whether to augment her speed,
or to wait for him. The sight of a white man seemed a sign of aid and
comfort. Again he hailed her. In the moonlight she could see that he
held his right hand up, with the palm open and toward her; a sign of
amity. Confidence came to her by inspiration, and without a struggle
she allowed him to range up to her side. When he came nearer, she knew
that she had never seen him among the Free Trappers who followed the
beck of Martin.
"There is little time for talk now. I know not how closely pursuers may
be behind us. What we have to say we must say as we gallop on. I see
that you know me, and I need not stop to explain."
"That's all right. We've bin on the scout arter ye, an' I war jest
rollin' slow into what I thort war blam'd dangerous diggin's. Wouldn't
wonder ef you've saved my skulp; an' yer chances won't be any the wuss
fur hevin' Bill Blaze to steer yer through this yere diffikilty."
"Do you know this country? I took this route by chance, without knowing
whither I was going; and only determined on riding on till I found
myself--somewhere."
"Know it like a book. Yer tuk the right; couldn't 'a' showed ye a
better myself. Yer driftin' right through Crooked Cañon. You might 'a'
taken a shorter cut to reach the other side of the mount'ins; but then,
you'd 'a' missed me, sure. How the what you call 'em did yer git on it?
Don't 'spose the top-knots is so overflowin' with the milk o' human
kindness, thet they've sit ye up in the hoss bissness theirselves!"
Edith, in a few brief words, explained the rapidly-shifting scenes of
the evening, passing lightly over her interview with War Hawk, and
winding up with:
"And now, as you are fittest to act the part of guide, what do you
propose doing?"
Blaze was silent a moment as he revolved in his mind the intelligence
that he had received, then answered:
"Yer see, Miss, thet ain't so easy to answer right at onc't. All that
excitement wern't fur nothin'. Depend upon it, that scout tumbled
acrost somethin' that wern't kalkerlated to fit the'r arrangements.
It's more ner likely Martin and his men are comin' up Straight Cañon.
Yer see ther's two passes--one on 'em called Straight and t'other
Crooked. We're in the Crooked. I tried this yere one acause my luck's
the dog-gonedest contrairiest thing you ever see'd, and I allus hev to
be just whar I oughtn't, ef I don't want every thing to bu'st up to
eternal smash. We can't git out o'here to-night, an' I guess the best
thing is to sail along a few hours, an' then stop off till morning.
Martin's sure to be somewhar in the neighborhood. Ef he's in this
cañon, we'll find him; ef he's in the t'other, he'll keep yer Indian
friends up an' busy, an' find us, since I've got a few ideas about them
copper-skins, an' when I think 'em over _right_, I'll let you know what
they are. Just now let us make our prettiest time."
In accordance with this, the speed, which had slackened as they
conversed, was accelerated, and for a long time the two rode on in
silence.