We had ridden around the butte, and were in sight of the crowd of
wailing women, when one on horseback was seen emerging from their midst,
and turning head towards us. The habiliments of the rider told that she
was a woman. I recognised the Navajo scarf, and plumed circlet, as
those worn by the wild huntress. It was she who had separated from the
crowd! Had I needed other evidence to identify her, I saw it in the
wolf-like animal that was bounding after her, keeping pace with the
gallop of her horse.
"Behold!" I said. "Yonder is Marian--your own Marian!"
"It air, as I'm a livin' man! I mightn't a know'd her in that queer
dress; but yon's her dog. It's Wolf: I kud tell him, any whar."
"On second thoughts," suggested I, "perhaps, I had better see her first,
and prepare her for meeting you! What say you?"
"Jest as you like, capt'n. P'raps it mout be the better way."
"Bide behind the waggon, then! Stay there till I give you a signal to
come forth."
Obedient to the injunction, my companion trotted back, and disappeared
behind the white tilt. I saw the huntress was coming towards the mound;
and, instead of going forth to meet her, I remained upon the spot where
we had halted. A few minutes sufficed to bring her near; and I was
impressed more than ever with the grand beauty of this singular maiden.
She was mounted in the Indian fashion, with a white goatskin for a
saddle, and a simple thong for a stirrup; while the bold style in which
she managed her horse, told that, whatever had been her early training,
she of late must have had sufficient practice in equestrian manoeuvres.
The steed she bestrode was a large chestnut-coloured mustang; and as the
fiery creature reared and bounded over the turf, the magnificent form of
its rider was displayed to advantage. She still carried her rifle; and
was equipped just as I had seen her in the morning; but now, sharing the
spirit of her steed--and further animated by the exciting incidents,
still in the act of occurrence--her countenance exhibited a style of
beauty, not the less charming from the wildness and _braverie_ that
characterised it. Truly had she merited the praises which the young
backwoodsman had oft lavished upon her. To all that he had said the
most critical connoisseur would have given his accord. No wonder that
Wingrove had been able to resist the fascinations of the simpering
syrens of Swampville--no wonder that Su-wa-nee had solicited in vain!
Truly was this wild huntress an attractive object--in charms far
excelling the goddess of the Ephesians. Never was there such mate for a
hunter! Well might Wingrove rejoice at the prospect before him!
"Ho, stranger!" said she, reining up by my side, "you are safe, I see!
All has gone well?"
"I was in no danger: I had no opportunity of entering into the fight."
"So much the better--there were enough of them without you. But your
fellow-travellers? Do they still survive? I have come to inquire after
them."
"Thanks to you and good fortune, they are still alive--even he who was
scalped, and whom we had believed to be dead."
"Ah! is the scalped man living?"
"Yes; he has been badly wounded, and otherwise ill-used; but we have
hopes of his recovery."
"Take me to him! I have learnt a little surgery from my Indian friends.
Let me see your comrade! Perhaps I may be of some service to him?"
"We have already dressed his wounds; and I believe nothing more can be
done for him, except what time may accomplish. But I have another
comrade who suffers from wounds of a different nature, _which you alone
can cure_."
"Wounds of a different nature?" repeated she, evidently puzzled by my
ambiguous speech; "of what nature, may I ask?" I paused before making
reply.
Whether she had any suspicion of a double meaning to my words, I could
not tell. If so, it was not openly evinced, but most artfully concealed
by the speech that followed. "During my stay among the Utahs," said
she, "I have had an opportunity of seeing wounds of many kinds, and have
observed their mode of treating them. Perhaps I may know how to do
something for those of your comrade? But you say that I _alone_ can
cure them?"
"You, and you only."
"How is that, stranger? I do not understand you!"
"The wounds I speak of are not in the body."
"Where, then?"
"In the heart."
"Oh! stranger, you are speaking in riddles. If your comrade is wounded
in the heart, either by a bullet or an arrow--"
"It is an arrow."
"Then he must die: it will be impossible for any one to save him."
"Not impossible for you. You can extract the arrow--you can save him!"
Mystified by the metaphor, for some moments she remained gazing at me in
silence--her large antelope eyes interrogating me in the midst of her
astonishment. So lovely were those eyes, that had their irides been
blue instead of brown, I might have fancied they were Lilian's! In all
but colour, they looked exactly like hers--as I had once seen them.
Spell-bound by the resemblance, I gazed back into them without
speaking--so earnestly and so long, that she might easily have mistaken
my meaning. Perhaps she did so: for her glance fell; and the circle of
crimson suffusion upon her cheeks seemed slightly to extend its
circumference, at the same time that it turned deeper in hue.
"Pardon me!" said I, "for what may appear unmannerly. I was gazing at a
resemblance."
"A resemblance?"
"Yes! one that recalls the sweetest hour of my life."
"I remind you of some one, then?"
"Ay--truly."
"Some one who has been dear to you?"
"Has been, and _is_."
"Ah! and who, sir, may I have the fortune to resemble?"
"One dear also to you--_your sister_!"
"My sister!"
"Lilian."