“Have the pretty ponies been naughty? Must they be tied up, too?”
“Not because they are bad, but because they are good, papoose! That is the way of life. It is full of contradictions. But, don’t wrinkle your pretty brows puzzling what you cannot understand. Run and help the Dark-Eye pull the long grasses.”
It was so wonderful to see Wahneenah’s skilful fingers twist and turn and thread the slender blades in and out that both children were fascinated by her deftness; and though Gaspar could not at all catch the trick of this curious weaving, he resolved to practise it in private till he could equal, or excel, this example. Again his ambition arose to prove that a pale-face was always superior to an Indian, and his dark eyes gazed so fixedly upon Wahneenah’s flying fingers that she laughed, and demanded:
“Are you jealous, my son? But there’s no need. Nothing that I know will be hidden from you, if you choose to be taught. But, come. Take this rope that is finished. Twist it about the gelding’s neck—so; now pass it downward between his front legs and hobble him by the right hind one. No, he’ll not resist. Try it. Then you’ll see that he’ll neither nibble at his tether nor run away from us.”
Gaspar was too proud to show that he somewhat dreaded interfering with the restless legs of the spirited Tempest, and to his astonishment he found that the animal submitted very quietly to the tying. This may have been because Wahneenah stood by its beautiful head and murmured some soft sounds into its dainty ears. Though what the murmuring meant nobody save herself and Tempest understood. In like manner, and very quickly, all three horses were fastened in the shade of the trees, and as soon as they had cooled sufficiently, Gaspar was bidden to water them.
Then the Sun Maid was called from her play among the wild flowers that fringed the bank, and made to walk behind Wahneenah’s skirts.
“Cling close, my Girl-Child! We’re going into fairyland. Bow your pretty head till it is low—low—low down, like this”; and herself bending till her own head was very near the earth, the guide pushed forward into what appeared to be a solid tangle of bushes.
“Why, Wahneenah! You can’t go through there. It’s a regular hedge. But if you want to try, I have a little knife in my pocket, that my Captain gave me. Let me go first—I am the man—and cut the way; though I don’t see why. Isn’t there a better place?”
“There are many things a lad of ten cannot understand, Dark-Eye, even though he be as manly as you. Trust Wahneenah. An Indian never forgets, and never makes the haste that destroys. Watch me. Learn a lesson in woodcraft that will be useful to you more than once. Cut or broken twigs have tongues which betray. But thus—even a bird could find no trace.”