Jack and Alagwa, the latter mounted on Cato’s horse, were riding behind the wagon, chatting together and looking forward, not altogether eagerly, to the change in surroundings which they knew must be at hand.
The strain of the first night had for the moment exhausted the girl’s capacity to hate. She had touched a high point and had sunk back. When she saw that Jack and Cato were awake, reaction had overcome her and she had sunk back on her couch in the wagon, mind and heart both blank. When, later, she had forced herself to crawl from the wagon to join the others in a hasty breakfast, she had done so listlessly and silently. Still later, though she had gathered strength and vigor with the mounting day, she had found herself incapable of thinking of either the past or the future. Like any other wild creature that had been driven beyond its strength, she could do nothing but exist. When the thought of the future and of her mission rose in her mind she deliberately forced it back. She had refused to countenance an attack upon the wagon when it was at her mercy; never again would she connive at its destruction. She had taken early occasion to warn Cato that his dereliction from duty had not passed unobserved, and she had won his eternal gratitude, to say nothing of his vows never to sleep on watch again, by promising not to tell Jack. Apart from this, then, was nothing for her to do until she reached Fort Wayne. Until then she could live only for the moment.
For the moment also she had laid aside her distrust of Jack. His heart might be bad, but his words were pleasant, and she would enjoy them while she could.
Swiftly the hours sped by. Her wound was healing fast and gave her little trouble. After the first day she found herself able to ride a little, and on the last day she remained almost continuously in the saddle, Jack by her side, talking the hours away.
Infinite was her ignorance of the life which Jack and his people led far away to the south and great was her curiosity concerning it. She told herself that it was merely the strangeness of the life that roused her interest. For her it could have no personal interest. That she could ever dwell with the enemies of her people was unthinkable. But—well, it was pleasant to hear of so many things that had been far beyond her ken. Jack, on the other hand, found unexpected delight in enlightening the virgin field of her mind. Again and again he laughed at her ignorance, but his laughter was not of the kind that hurts. Long before the third day had begun, Jack had decided that this Indian-bred boy was the most interesting he had ever known, and Alagwa had unconsciously decided that Jack was very different from the others of his race. “If all white men were like him,” she thought, “there would be no enmity between his people and mine.” The bond of sympathy between the two was growing very strong.
“We’ll be at Fort Wayne soon, Bob, I guess,” Jack was saying, as they neared the edge of the forest. “I reckon it’s mean for me to wish it, but I do hope we won’t find your friends there. I didn’t know how much I needed a jolly little chum.”
Alagwa caught her breath. Almost she had forgotten Fort Wayne. Grimly her forgotten mission rose before her. When she reached the fort—Hastily she shook her head. “The white chief will find no friends of mine,” she declared, soberly. “I have no friends.”
“Oh! You must have friends somewhere, you know, and I’ve got to try to find them. I must do my best to let them know you’re alive. You may have a father and mother, still grieving for you. But if I can’t find them——”
“And if you can not find them?” The girl was talking desperately, saying anything to prevent herself from thinking of what awaited her.
“Then I reckon I’ll have to take you back to Alabama with me when I go—though the Lord knows when that’ll be. You’ll love Alabama, though it’s mighty different from this Ohio country. Alabama is Shawnee—no, it’s Creek—for ‘here-we-rest!’ The Creeks called it that because it is so pleasant. You’ll come with me, won’t you, Bob?”