"He brought me here to save me for—"
"Himself."
"Oh! heaven, tell me what you mean."
"He will make her his wife—will take her to his wigwam."
"Can it be possible there is such treachery? He told me he was my friend—the friend of the white man."
"Then he lied!" she hissed like an adder. "Lied like the serpent that charms the little sparrow, while guarding its young."
"But you are a woman and can save me," and she flung herself at her feet.
"Woman?" screamed the squaw with a horrible laugh that made the rocks ring. "Metiz a woman! She is a devil, and all the tribe fear her. When you have seen every thing you love—father, mother, sisters, brothers, and husband and children murdered by the pale-face; when your hair has been turned, and you have lived in a howling wilderness alone, for the Manitou only knows how many winters, what will you be then? No, the chief lied! He hates the pale-face, even as I do. But talk not to me of them—let me get out of your sight, or I might be tempted to drive a knife into your heart, even as your people did through those of mine," and she fled muttering the wildest imprecations.
Then the full horror of her situation burst upon the mind of the poor girl, and bowing her head, she wept bitter tears.
But should she wait the return of the brutal Indian? Was not any fate better than to be his wife? She had seen enough to know, in all its brutality, what it meant with one of their own race, and knew it would be infinitely worse with her. Yes, she would run away, and that quickly, forgetting what she had heard about the woods being filled with wild beasts.