Amid so many, therefore, small attention was paid to the arrival of these two young people. They were furnished with a plain supper, in the main living room of the building which seemed a big and dreary place, and immediately afterward were dismissed to bed. Kitty was assigned a cot among the women guests and Gaspar slept in the men’s quarters.
But neither had very comfortable thoughts, and the talk of her dormitory neighbors kept the Sun Maid long awake. Here, as in Mercy’s cabin, the dominant subject was the reward offered for the capture of the Indians, and a fresh fear set her trembling as one indignant matron exclaimed:
“There’s one of those pesky red-skins in this very Fort this night. He came with that girl yonder, but I hope he won’t be let to get away as easy. The country is overrun with the Indians, and is no place for decent white folks. They outnumber us ten to one. That’s why I’ve got my husband to sell out. We’re on our way back East, to civilization.”
“Well, if one’s come here to-night, I reckon he’ll be taken care of! Massacres are more plenty than money, and some man or other’ll make out to claim the prize. What sort of Indian was he?”
“Oh, like them all. All paint and feather and wickedness. I wish somebody’d take and hang him to the sally-port, just for an example.”
This was too much for loyal Kitty Briscoe. She could no more help springing up in defence of her friends than she could help breathing.
“You women must not talk like that! There are good Indians, and they are the best people in the world. They won’t hurt anybody who lets them alone. That Indian you’re talking against is the Black Partridge. He is splendid. He is my very oldest friend, except Gaspar. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, and he’d help everybody needed help. It’s this horrible offer of money for every Indian caught that has set my precious Other Mother wandering over the country this dark night, and made Gaspar and me homeless runaways.”
There was instant hubbub in the room, and no more desire for sleep on anybody’s part until Kitty had been made to tell her story, the story of her life as she remembered it, over and over again; and when finally slumber overtook her, even in the midst of her narrative, her dreams were filled with visions of Wahneenah fleeing and forever pursued by uniformed soldiers with glistening bayonets, who fired after her to the merry sound of a bugle and drum.
In the morning she found Gaspar and related her night’s experience. He received it gravely, without the sympathy she expected.