Our Christmas party

by Edwin Hodder

There was a large tent near to that of the chief, and Quito knew that there were women in it, but whether or not his wife was there he had not been able to ascertain from his distant view-point in the woods.

Raising the edge of this tent, he found that it was full of slumbering women, but it required a close inspection of their faces in the dark to ascertain who they were—so close that his face almost touched that of the first woman he looked at. His heart throbbed, for he thought he recognised the features of Laughing-eye. Just then the sleeper drew a long breath and sighed, and Quito knew that it was his lost one. He also guessed that the others were the women of his own tribe, but he knew that it would be impossible for him, single-handed, to save them at that time. To save his wife would be difficult enough, he thought.

Putting his face close to that of Laughing-eye, he heaved a long-drawn sigh, and yawned pretty loudly, imitating a woman’s voice as much as possible, and giving his wife a push. She half awoke, and, turning round in a sleepy way, muttered a few unintelligible words.

Quito again drew a long breath, and muttered a sleepy remark.

Laughing-eye was startled. She raised her head to listen. This was the moment of danger. If taken by surprise, she might utter a cry or an exclamation which might awaken her companions, and the rousing of the whole camp would be certain to follow, for Indians’ ears are very sharp. Quito felt the difficulty and danger of his position, but there was only one course left open to him.

“Hist! Laughing-eye,” he whispered, close in his wife’s ear.

Next instant his left hand was on her mouth, and with his right he pressed her down, as she made an effort to rise. The effort was momentary, almost involuntary. Immediately she lay so still that Quito knew she had recognised him, so he whispered a few more words, and released her.

Nothing more was said. Speech was not necessary, for Indians’ wits are sharpened by experience. Quito glided, one might almost say melted, away, and Laughing-eye followed him so quietly through the same aperture that the blanket which she left behind appeared merely to subside into a flat state. Quito did not stop to speak outside. Gliding through the grass, serpent-like, in the direction of the horses, he was followed by his wife, and after some minutes, for they moved very slowly, they were clear of the group of tents. Not far from them one of the sentinels stood leaning on his rifle, and gazing into the far-off horizon, where a faint glimmer of light showed that the moon was about to rise.

To pass this man was difficult, indeed, it would have been impossible, had he not been a very young man, whose eyes were rather heavy, and whose experience of Indian warfare was slight. They succeeded, however, and Quito ceased to advance when he came up to a splendid horse which stood picketted by a long line to a peg driven into the ground, and with its fore feet “hobbled,” or tied together. Without a word he cut the hobbles, and the line by which the animal was fastened, the end of which last he placed in Laughing-eye’s hand. She had crept up alongside of her husband, and remained perfectly quiet, while he glided away from her.

She might have remained perhaps two minutes in this state, when, peeping upwards, she saw another horse moving towards her. Instantly her husband was by her side, and she saw that the end of a rope was in his hand.