Elk Horn looked amazed. “I believe she married a trader and came with him. I will ask her.”
“No. Cannot some of the men tell you?”
“Oh, I think so. Have you been smitten with her charms?”
The Indian nodded, but his face showed no emotion.
They made a rude camp for the night and proceeded to cook some supper.
“I have found out,” announced Elk Horn. “A Frenchman, Marchand, married her. He was killed, I believe, in the assault on the town.”
“Yes, I like her. I will buy her of you. Let us make a bargain.”
“And the little one?” inquiringly.
“Oh, I do not want her. Yet she has some beauty, according to pale-face ideas. But no, I will take only the Indian girl.”
They ate their supper of broiled fish, and then smoked in the gathering darkness. Elk Horn deliberated. He had not exactly thought of selling her, though it was often done with female captives. He had two wives now, and did not want to be burdened with a third who was a helpless young girl. Wives were for profit, in his estimation.