"Do what I tell you, you little fool," the squatter interrupted her brutally, "and leave me in peace."
Ellen turned to wipe away the tears this harsh language forced from her, and rose sorrowfully to obey Red Cedar, who looked after her.
"Come, you goose," he said to her again, "I did not intend to hurt your feelings."
The girl then collected all the dry branches she could find, which she made into a pile and kindled. The wood soon began cracking, and a long and bright flame rose to the sky. She then took from his holsters the squatter's still loaded pistols, placed them within reach of his arm, and then seated herself again by his side. Red Cedar smiled his satisfaction.
"There," he said, "now we have nothing more to fear; if the wild beasts pay us a visit, we will receive them; we will pass the night quietly. As for the morrow, well, we shall see."
Ellen, without replying, wrapped him up as well as she could in the blankets and hides that were on the horse, in order to protect him from the cold. So much attention and self-denial affected the bandit.
"And you, Ellen," he asked her; "will you not keep a few of these skins for yourself?"
"Why should I, father? The fire will be enough for me," she said gently.
"But, at any rate, eat something, you must be hungry; for, if I am not mistaken, you have had nothing the whole day."
"That is true, father, but I am not hungry."