It was at this juncture that Wowkle, silently, stealthily, emerged from the cupboard and made her way over to the door. Her feet were heavily moccasined and she was blanketed in a stout blanket of gay colouring.
“Ugh—some snow!” she muttered, as a gust of wind beat against her face and drove great snowflakes into the room, fairly taking her breath away. But her words fell on deaf ears. For, oblivious to the storm that was now raging outside, the youthful pair of lovers continued to concentrate their thoughts upon the storm that was raging within their own breasts, the Girl keeping up the struggle with herself, while the man urged her on as only he knew how.
“Why, if I let you take one you’d take two,” denied the Girl, half-yielding by her very words, if she but knew it.
“No, I wouldn’t—I swear I wouldn’t,” promised the man with great earnestness.
“Ugh—very bad!” was the Indian woman’s muffled ejaculation as she peered out into the night. But she had promised her lover to come to him when supper was over, and she would not break faith with him even if it were at the peril of her life. The next moment she went out, as did the red light in the Girl’s lantern hanging on a peg of the outer door.
“Oh, please, please,” said the Girl, half-protestingly, half-willingly.
But the man was no longer to be denied; he kept on urging:
“One kiss, only one.”
Here was an appeal which could no longer be resisted, and though half-frightened by the tone of his voice and the look in his eye, the Girl let herself be taken into his arms as she murmured:
“’Tain’t no use, I lay down my hands to you.”