"She, too, is there."
"And Early Morn?"
"Yes," grunted the savage.
"What does he say?" asked Clark.
"There is a white woman and her daughter in a village, there," said
Erskine, pointing in the direction of the smoke.
Clark's voice was announcing the fact to his men. Hastily he selected
twenty. "See that no harm comes to them," he cried, and dashed forward.
Erskine in advance saw Black Wolf and a few bucks covering the retreat
of some fleeing women. They made a feeble resistance of a volley and
they too turned to flee. A white woman emerged from a tent and with
great dignity stood, peering with dim eyes. To Clark's amazement Erskine
rushed forward and took her in his arms. A moment later Erskine cried:
"My sister, where is she?"
The white woman's trembling lips opened, but before she could answer, a
harsh, angry voice broke in haughtily, and Erskine turned to see Black
Wolf stalking in, a prisoner between two stalwart woodsmen.
"Early Morn is Black Wolf's squaw. She is gone--" He waved one hand
toward the forest.
The insolence of the savage angered Clark, and not understanding what he
said, he asked angrily:
"Who is this fellow?"
"He is the husband of my half-sister," answered Erskine gravely.
Clark looked dazed and uncomprehending:
"And that woman?"
"My mother," said Erskine gently.
"Good God!" breathed Clark. He turned quickly and waved the open-mouthed
woodsmen away, and Erskine and his mother were left alone. A feeble
voice called from a tent near by.
"Old Kahtoo!" said Erskine's mother. "He is dying and he talks of
nothing but you--go to him!" And Erskine went. The old man lay trembling
with palsy on a buffalo-robe, but the incredible spirit in his wasted
body was still burning in his eyes.
"My son," said he, "I knew your voice. I said I should not die until I
had seen you again. It is well ... it is well," he repeated, and wearily
his eyes closed. And thus Erskine knew it would be.