"All is calm," the hunter answered. "The Cihuatl can come."
The Indian shook his head.
"Since the rising of the moon, Mahchsi Karehde has been separated from Eglantine; he knows not where she is at this moment."
A kindly smile played round the hunter's lips.
"Eglantine loves my brother," he said, gently. "The little bird that sings in her heart will have led her on the trail of the Chief. Has Mahchsi Karehde forgotten the song with which he called her to his love meetings in the tribe?"
"The Chief has forgotten nothing."
"Let him call her then."
The Indian did not let the invitation be repeated. The cry of the walkon rose in the silence.
At the same moment a rustling was heard in the branches, and a young woman, bounding like a startled fawn, fell panting into the warrior's arms, which were opened to receive her. This pressure was no longer than a flash of lightning; the Chief, doubtlessly ashamed of the tender emotion he had yielded to in the presence of a white man, even though that white man was a friend, coldly repulsed the young female, saying to her, in a voice in which no trace of feeling was visible, "My sister is fatigued, without doubt; no danger menaces her at this moment; she can sleep; the warriors will watch over her."
"Eglantine is a Comanche maid," she answered in a timid voice. "Her heart is strong; she will obey Mahchsi Karehde (the Flying Eagle). Under the protection of so terrible a chief she knows herself in safety."