“Kit, I wish you wouldn’t keep thinking of things. I didn’t tell Other Mother, of course. She might—she might not have been pleased. I acted for the best. That’s the way men always have to do.”
The argument was not as convincing to the Sun Maid as she herself would have liked; but she trusted Gaspar, and tried to put the money question aside, while she strained her eyes to search the darkening landscape for the missing one.
But there was no trace of her anywhere; even though Gaspar dismounted and scanned the sward for fresh tracks, as his Indian friends had taught him; and when, at length, he felt compelled to hasten to the Fort and seek its shelter for the Sun Maid, his young heart was heavy with foreboding. However, he put the cheerful side of the subject before the little girl, observing:
“It’s the very easiest thing in the world for people to make mistakes in meeting this way. What seems a certain point to one person may look very different to another. I’ve noticed that.”
“Oh! you have!” commented Kitty. “I think you’ve noticed almost too much, Gaspar. I—I think it’s awful lonely out here, and I don’t believe Abel would have let anybody hurt Wahneenah, even if Mercy would. And—I want her, I want her!”
“Sun Maid! Are you afraid?”
“No, I am not. Not for myself. But if some of those dreadful white people whom Wahneenah thought were her friends should overtake her on their way home, and—and—take her prisoner! I can’t have it,—I must go back, and search again and again.”
“Sing, Kit! If she’s anywhere within hearing, she’ll come at the sound of your voice. Sing your loudest!”
Obediently, the Sun Maid lifted her clear voice and sang, at the beginning with vigor and hope in the notes, but at the end with a sorrowful trembling and pathos that made Gaspar’s heart ache. So, to still his own misgivings, he commanded her, also, to be silent.