With a spring, the child threw herself upon the Indian’s breast and clasped his neck with her trustful arms. It was, perhaps, this confidence of hers in the good-will of all her friends that made them in return hold her so dear. Certain it was that the chief’s face now assumed that expression of gentleness which was the attribute small Kitty ascribed to him, but which among his older acquaintances was not considered a leading trait of his character. Just he always was, but rather severe than gentle; and Wahneenah marked, with some surprise, the caressing touch he laid upon the Sun Maid’s floating hair as he quietly set her down and himself dropped upon a ledge to rest.
“You are welcome, my brother. Though, at first, I feared it was some alien who had discovered our cave.”
“It is not the habit of the Happy to fear. She who forebodes danger where no danger is but paves the way to her own destruction.”
Wahneenah glanced at her brother sharply.
“It is the Truth-Teller himself who has put foreboding into my soul. He—and the new-born love which the Sun Maid has brought.”
The face of Black Partridge fell again into that dignified gravity which was its habitual expression and he sat for a long time with the “dream-look” in his eyes, gazing straightforward into the embers of their little fire.
“Is you hungry, Feather-man? We did have such a beau’ful supper. Nice Other Mother can cook fishes and cakes and—things. Shall she cook you some fish, Black Partridge?”
“Will my chief eat the food I prepare for him?” asked Wahneenah, seconding the child’s invitation.
“With pleasure. For one hour he will let the cares of his life slip from him. He will have this night of peace, and while the meal is getting he will sleep.”
With a sigh of relief the tall Indian moved a few steps back into the cave and stretched himself at length upon the ground. His eyes closed, and before Gaspar had made ready his line to catch the fresh trout he had sunk into a profound slumber.