“Pshaw!” he muttered, in disappointment. “It is only a squaw;” and then, as if ashamed of himself, he smoothed the long, black hair from the bronzed face, and after laying the poor creature carefully on the ground, hastened to the stream he had so lately passed, and filled his cap with water. Returning hurriedly, he bathed the upturned face. He was a rude nurse, but kind-hearted, and there was something in the utter helplessness of the wretched Indian woman that took a strong hold upon his rough nature, and exercised an influence over him a thousand women under other circumstances would have failed in producing.
“Waal, she’s real pooty, too,” he muttered, between his teeth. “The pootyest squaw I ever sot eyes on. Who would have thought a red-skinned gal could look so much like a human? But she’s waking up now;” and he seated himself by her side, looking at her with eyes full of wonder and pity.
Like a frightened fawn, the Indian woman started from the rock and gazed about her. She had been so suddenly snatched from the jaws of death, had swooned so deeply, that, for a time, she was lost to all surroundings, and when she opened her eyes, it was like one coming out of total darkness into the glaring light of day. Anxiously, afraid almost, she gazed about her—at the coal-black steed—the strong form and face of the frontiersman, and at the cliff beyond. Then, in all its fearful reality the scene came back to her, and burying her face in her lap, she sat for a long time speechless, after the fashion of her people.
“My good woman,” began Waltermyer, anxious to break the silence, and yet doubtful how or where to commence, “you came mighty near a-fallin’ off the cliff. And now,” continued Waltermyer, “as soon as you have rested a little you must git on my horse thar—he’s a good and true one and a sure-footed—and I will take you to a place of safety, if not home.”
“Waupee has no home,” was the sad response.
“No home? Waal, I might say the same of myself. But I s’pose your home is like mine—that is, your tribe’s is—any whar, whar the night overtakes you. But cheer up; I will take you to your tribe.”
“Waupee must not go to her tribe.”
“Not go to your people? Waal, this beats natur’.”
“A moon ago there was light in her wigwam—now all is darkness. Waupee would have given herself to the dark angels of death. The pale-face saved her and she thanks him. Once before, when the night was dark, she saw him.”
“Saw me?”