by John Fox
XX
And yet Erskine lingered on and on at the village. Of the white woman hehad learned little other than that she had been bought from anothertribe and adopted by old Kahtoo; but it was plain that since thethreatened burning of her she had been held in high respect by the wholetribe. He began to wonder about her and whether she might not wish to goback to her own people. He had never talked with her, but he never movedabout the camp that he did not feel her eyes upon him. And Early Morn'sbig soft eyes, too, never seemed to leave him. She brought him food, shesat at the door of his tent, she followed him about the village and boreherself openly as his slave. At last old Kahtoo, who would not give uphis great hope, plead with him to marry her, and while he was talkingthe girl stood at the door of the tent and interrupted them. Hermother's eyes were growing dim, she said. Her mother wanted to talk withWhite Arrow and look upon his face before her sight should altogetherpass. Nor could Erskine know that the white woman wanted to look intothe eyes of the man she hoped would become her daughter's husband, butKahtoo did, and he bade Erskine go. His foster-mother, coming upon thescene, scowled, but Erskine rose and went to the white woman's tent. Shesat just inside the opening, with a blanket across the lower half of herface, nor did she look at him. Instead she plied him with questions, andlistened eagerly to his every word, and drew from him every detail ofhis life as far back as he could remember. Poor soul, it was the firstopportunity for many years that she had had to talk with any whiteperson who had been in the Eastern world, and freely and frankly he heldnothing back. She had drawn her blanket close across her face while hewas telling of his capture by the Indians and his life among them, hisescape 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 questionedher, she told little, and his own native delicacy made him understand.She, too, had been captured with a son who would have been aboutErskine's age, but her boy and her husband had been killed. She had beenmade a slave and--now she drew the blanket across her eyes--after thebirth of her daughter she felt she could never go back to her ownpeople. Then her Indian husband had been killed and old Kahtoo hadbought and adopted her, and she had not been forced to marry again. Nowit was too late to leave the Indians. She loved her daughter; she wouldnot 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 thewoman's heart and his own was made sad. Her concern was with herdaughter--what would become of her? Many a young brave, besides BlackWolf, had put his heart at her little feet, but she would have none ofthem. And so Erskine was the heaven-sent answer to the mother'sprayers--that was the thought behind her mournful eyes.
All the while the girl had crouched near, looking at Erskine withdoglike eyes, and when he rose to go the woman dropped the blanket fromher face and got to her feet. Shyly she lifted her hands, took his facebetween 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 arising 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 breastthrobbing and her eyes burning with a light he had never seen before.
"Black Wolf will kill you," she whispered. "Black Wolf wants Early Mornand he knows that Early Morn wants White Arrow." Erskine put both handson her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. She trembled, and whenhis arms went about her she surged closer to him and the touch of herwarm, supple body went through him like fire. And then with a triumphantsmile she sprang back.
"Black Wolf will see," she whispered, and fled. Erskine sank to theground, with his head in his hands. The girl ran back to her tent, andthe mother, peering at the flushed face and shining eyes, clove to thetruth. She said nothing, but when the girl was asleep and faintlysmiling, the white woman sat staring out into the moonlit woods, softlybeating her breast.