After waiting for a few moments he repeated the name even yet more boisterously, and at the same time explained to the anxious girl that "Metiz" in the language of the pale-face was "Thin Stick," but that when she had occasion to address the squaw who was to guard her, she had better use the Sioux word.
Still the old woman came not, and after repeated efforts to summon her he went out grumbling—returning dragging her along, and it required a great effort for Olive to keep from screaming, so hideous was she.
How old she was no one could have determined within a score of years. Her yet plentiful hair was white as snow, as were brows and lashes, and the long growth upon the upper lip, but her eyes were black and sparkling as anthracite—looked more like the serpent's when in its deadly coil than any thing human.
She had once been tall, but her form was now nearly doubled by years and pain, though when aroused she could rise to her full hight, and her broad shoulders and large arms told of power. Her face was a mass of wrinkles. Her hands were long and the untrimmed nails gave them the appearance of the talons of some great bird. Her figure appeared to be entirely wanting flesh—to be simply a compound of skin, muscles and bones, and as she crept into the wigwam, leaning upon a huge knotted staff, her fierce manner and coarse voice and restless behavior gave her the appearance of a wild beast.
"Metiz," said the chief, "this is the girl you must guard and feed until I come back."
"Ugh!" was the only reply, but the fiery eyes that were turned upon Olive made her shudder.
"You must take good care of her, do you hear, and you shall have plenty of fire-water and tobacco."
"Ugh!"
She turned away and retreated again to her own wigwam, muttering as she went.
"For the love of heaven do not leave me alone with her," pleaded the girl.