"You are welcome, She-wolf; you know it is I who am awaiting you here."
"Ah! you are there, then!" a voice answered.
A rustling of leaves was now heard in the bushes opposite the spot where the Indian was seated; the reeds and creepers were pulled back by a vigorous hand, and a woman appeared in the space left free. Before advancing, she thrust her head forward cautiously, and looked.
"I am alone," the Indian said; "you can approach without fear."
A smile played over the newcomer's lips at this answer, which she did not expect.
"I fear nothing," she said.
Before going further, we will give some indispensable details about this woman—vague, it is true, as we can only supply what the Indians said about her, but which will be useful to the reader in comprehending the facts that will follow. No one knew who she was, or whence she came. The period when she was first seen on the prairie was equally unknown. All was an inexplicable mystery connected with her. Though she spoke fluently, and with extreme purity, most of the prairie idioms, still certain words she at times used, and the colour of her skin, not so brown as that of the natives, caused the supposition that she belonged to another race from theirs. It was only a supposition, however, for her hatred of the Indians was too well known for the bravest among them ever to venture to see her sufficiently closely to render themselves certain on that head.
At times she disappeared for weeks, even for months, and it was impossible to discover her trail. Then she was suddenly seen again wandering about, talking to herself, marching nearly always by night, frequently accompanied by an idiotic and dumb dwarf, who followed her like a dog, and whom the Indians, in their credulous superstition, suspected strongly of being her familiar. This woman, ever gloomy and melancholy, with her wild looks and startling gestures, could not be accused of doing anyone harm, in spite of the general terror she inspired. Still, owing to the strange life she led, all the misfortunes that happened to the Indians, in war or hunting, were imputed to her. The Redskins considered her a wicked genius, and had given her the name of the Spirit of Evil. Hence the man who had come so far to see her must necessarily have been gifted with extraordinary courage, or some powerful reason impelled him to act as he was doing.
As this Blackfoot chief is destined to play a great part in this narrative, we will give his portrait in a few words. He was a man who had reached middle life, or about forty-five years. He was tall, well built, and admirably proportioned. His muscles, standing out like whipcord, denoted extraordinary vigour. He had an intelligent face; his features expressed cunning, while his eyes were rarely fixed on any object, but gave him an expression of craft and brutal cruelty, which inspired an unenviable repugnance towards him, if you took the trouble to study him carefully: but observers are rare in the desert, and with the Indians this chief enjoyed a great reputation, and was equally beloved for his tried courage and inexhaustible powers of speech, qualities highly esteemed by the Redskins.
"The night is still gloomy; my mother can approach," the Indian chief said.