As she spoke, the mat was flung aside, and her husband stood before her. Tahmeroo sprang joyfully to his bosom, and kissed his cheek, and lips, and brow, in all the abandonment of a happy and most affectionate heart; nor did she mark the stern and malignant expression of the face she had been covering with kisses, till he hastily released himself from her arms, and without returning her greeting, advanced to the chief, to whom he whispered again.
A fiendish light broke to the Shawnee’s eye; he arose, thrust a tomahawk into his belt, and taking up his rifle, went out. Butler was about to follow, but Tahmeroo again stood before him, extending her arms with an imploring gesture.
“You will not go away yet,” she said. “You have scarcely spoken to me since we reached Wyoming—don’t go yet!”
“Stand out of the way, foolish child!” he exclaimed, rudely pushing her aside. “I have other matters to think of!”
The Indian blood flashed up to Tahmeroo’s cheek, her eye kindled, her form was drawn to its proudest height as she stood aside and allowed her husband to pass out.
Catharine had started to her feet when the Shawnee went out, and now stood pale as death; so much agitated by her apprehensions that the rudeness offered to her daughter escaped her notice. But as Butler was hurrying through the doorway she stepped forward and grasped his arm with an energy that caused him to turn with something like an oath at what he supposed the importunity of his wife. Catharine took no heed of his impatience.
“Butler,” she said, “I fear there will be more bloodshed; for sweet mercy’s sake, appease the chief. You have the power; oh, do not lose the opportunity. I think it would kill us all were another scalp to be brought in——”
She broke off suddenly, and shrunk back with a sick shudder, for a gust of wind swept the long hair which streamed from a female scalp over the entrance, directly across her face. Butler took advantage of her emotion to make his escape.
“Have no fear, madam,” he said, freeing his arm from her grasp, and brushing the scalp carelessly back with his hand, as he went out; “you shall have no cause. I must hasten to the council at the fort.”
Catharine Montour comprehended him; but, too sick for reply, drew back to her daughter’s couch, and sat down, faint and quite overcome. There had been something horrible in the feeling of that long, fair hair as it swept over her face; her nerves still quivered with the thought of it.