"Oh! heaven, what do you want?" Olive asked, shivering with undefined alarm.
"The sun is seeking to hide itself behind the western mountains, and the young squaw of the pale-faces must be hungry. Metiz has brought her food and drink."
She saw that the eyes of the hideous Indian woman were upon her, and, fearing to make her angry, she arose, and by dint of a mighty exertion of will managed to eat.
"When the squaw has lived until every thing upon earth has been dead many, many winters she will not be so dainty," resumed her guardian, with a sneering voice, and instantly dispatched the rest of the provisions very much after the manner of a starving wolf.
"But I was not very hungry," replied Olive. "It was good, very good, and I thank you. Now I will go and take a walk."
"Where would the pale-face go?" was questioned in any thing but a pleasant voice.
"Oh! just to walk around a little. I am tired of being shut up in a wigwam."
"The grave is more narrow and dark."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Olive, beginning to fear again.
"If she walks far she may find out."