The poor girl shook her head. “From a life like mine death is an escape,” she said, bitterly.
“Oh! it is fearful! and a sin to rush unbidden into God’s presence, but I can not live through another frightful winter.
“No, I must and will die if no relief comes to me. For a year these people regarded me as a child, and then a young man of their tribe gave a horse for me, and carried me to his tipi as his wife.”
“Do you love your husband?” I asked.
A look, bitter and revengeful, gleamed from her eyes.
“Love a savage, who bought me to be a drudge and slave!” she repeated. “No! I hate him as I hate all that belong to this fearful bondage. He has another wife and a child. Thank God!” she added, with a shudder, “that I am not a mother!”
Misery and the consciousness of her own degraded life seemed to have made this poor young creature desperate; and, looking at her toil-worn hands and scarred arms, I saw the signs of abuse and cruelty; her feet, too, were bare, and fearfully bruised and travel-marked.
“Does he ill treat you?” I inquired.
“His wife does,” she answered. “I am forced to do all manner of slavish work, and when my strength fails, I am urged on by blows. Oh! I do so fearfully dread the chilling winters, without proper food or clothing; and I long to lie down and die, if God’s mercy will only permit me to escape from this hopeless imprisonment. I have nothing to expect now. I did once look forward to release, but that is all gone. I strove to go with the others, who were ransomed at Fort Pierre, and Mrs. Wright plead for me with all her heart; but the man who bought me would not give me up, and my prayers were useless.
“Mr. Dupuy, a Frenchman, who brought a wagon for the redeemed women and children, did not offer enough for me; and when another man offered a horse my captor would not receive it.