She went to a drawer and took out a piece of paper. Then, with a point of blackened stick, as he watched her and listened, she swiftly drew his route for him.
“Yes, I get it in my head,” he said. “I go dat way, but I wish—I wish it was dat queeck way. I have no fear, not’ing. I go w’en dat moon rise—I go, bien sûr.”
“You must sleep, then, while I get some food for you.” She pointed to a couch in a corner. “I will wake you when the moon rises.”
For the first time he seemed to realize her, for a moment to leave the thing which consumed him, and put his mind upon her.
“You not happy—you not like me here?” he asked, simply; then added, quickly, “I am not bad man like me brudder—no.”
Her eyes rested on him for a moment as though realizing him, while some thought was working in her mind behind.
“No, you are not a bad man,” she said. “Men and women are equal on the plains. You have no fear—I have no fear.”
He glanced at the rifles on the walls, then back at her. “My mudder, she was good woman. I am glad she did not lif to know what Fadette do.” His eyes drank her in for a minute, then he said: “I go sleep now, t’ank you—till moontime.”
In a moment his deep breathing filled the room, the only sound save for the fire within and the frost outside.
Time went on. The night deepened.