And yet Erskine lingered on and on at the village. Of the white woman he
had learned little other than that she had been bought from another
tribe and adopted by old Kahtoo; but it was plain that since the
threatened burning of her she had been held in high respect by the whole
tribe. He began to wonder about her and whether she might not wish to go
back to her own people. He had never talked with her, but he never moved
about the camp that he did not feel her eyes upon him. And Early Morn's
big soft eyes, too, never seemed to leave him. She brought him food, she
sat at the door of his tent, she followed him about the village and bore
herself openly as his slave. At last old Kahtoo, who would not give up
his great hope, plead with him to marry her, and while he was talking
the girl stood at the door of the tent and interrupted them. Her
mother's eyes were growing dim, she said. Her mother wanted to talk with
White Arrow and look upon his face before her sight should altogether
pass. Nor could Erskine know that the white woman wanted to look into
the eyes of the man she hoped would become her daughter's husband, but
Kahtoo did, and he bade Erskine go. His foster-mother, coming upon the
scene, scowled, but Erskine rose and went to the white woman's tent. She
sat just inside the opening, with a blanket across the lower half of her
face, nor did she look at him. Instead she plied him with questions, and
listened eagerly to his every word, and drew from him every detail of
his life as far back as he could remember. Poor soul, it was the first
opportunity for many years that she had had to talk with any white
person who had been in the Eastern world, and freely and frankly he held
nothing back. She had drawn her blanket close across her face while he
was telling of his capture by the Indians and his life among them, his
escape and the death of his father, and she was crying when he finished.
He even told her a little of Barbara, and when in turn he questioned
her, she told little, and his own native delicacy made him understand.
She, too, had been captured with a son who would have been about
Erskine's age, but her boy and her husband had been killed. She had been
made a slave and--now she drew the blanket across her eyes--after the
birth of her daughter she felt she could never go back to her own
people. Then her Indian husband had been killed and old Kahtoo had
bought and adopted her, and she had not been forced to marry again. Now
it was too late to leave the Indians. She loved her daughter; she would
not subject her or herself to humiliation among the whites, and, anyhow,
there was no one to whom she could go. And Erskine read deep into the
woman's heart and his own was made sad. Her concern was with her
daughter--what would become of her? Many a young brave, besides Black
Wolf, had put his heart at her little feet, but she would have none of
them. And so Erskine was the heaven-sent answer to the mother's
prayers--that was the thought behind her mournful eyes.
All the while the girl had crouched near, looking at Erskine with
doglike eyes, and when he rose to go the woman dropped the blanket from
her face and got to her feet. Shyly she lifted her hands, took his face
between them, bent close, and studied it searchingly:
"What is your name?"
"Erskine Dale."
Without a word she turned back into her tent.
At dusk Erskine stood by the river's brim, with his eyes lifted to a
rising moon and his thoughts with Barbara on the bank of the James.
Behind him he heard a rustle and, turning, he saw the girl, her breast
throbbing and her eyes burning with a light he had never seen before.
"Black Wolf will kill you," she whispered. "Black Wolf wants Early Morn
and he knows that Early Morn wants White Arrow." Erskine put both hands
on her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. She trembled, and when
his arms went about her she surged closer to him and the touch of her
warm, supple body went through him like fire. And then with a triumphant
smile she sprang back.
"Black Wolf will see," she whispered, and fled. Erskine sank to the
ground, with his head in his hands. The girl ran back to her tent, and
the mother, peering at the flushed face and shining eyes, clove to the
truth. She said nothing, but when the girl was asleep and faintly
smiling, the white woman sat staring out into the moonlit woods, softly
beating her breast.