Owindia at once obeyed her lover's request, and together they wended their way among the various lodges until the edge of the stream was reached. They walked slowly along the bank for some distance above the village. Here they seated themselves upon an old fallen tree, and looked out upon the river flowing sullenly by. It was a balmy evening, with not a breath of wind stirring the trees. Overhead, the stars were tumbling out one by one, and twinkling down upon the young lovers. Sounds of voices drifted up from the camps, mingled with the occasional snarl or bark of a dog. But Natsatt and Owindia had neither eyes nor ears for what was taking place around them. They were too much absorbed in each other to care about anything else. They were living in a little world of their own, with not a jarring note to disturb the sweet harmony. Forgotten for the time were the maiden's fears. She felt secure in the presence of the strong man at her side. And the many things he was telling her held her spellbound. He related to her again the story of his own past life, his numerous wanderings, and the marvellous things he had seen. Some day he would take her to see them for herself, so he told her. They would have, too, a little home of their own, where fear of the Chilcats would never worry them.
"How strange it will all be," Owindia at length remarked. "I know so little of the ways of the white people that I am afraid they will laugh at me. I shall make so many stupid mistakes that you will feel ashamed of me at times."
"Never, little one," was the emphatic reply. "I shall be proud of you. Even now you are much superior to many white women I have met. You are beautiful, gentle, and remember so much of what your mother taught you. She had white blood in her veins, and was very wise, was she not?"
"Ah, ah. She seemed to know everything. She said she wanted me to grow up to be a good woman. She would often watch me for a long time without saying anything. Sometimes she had a far away look in her eyes, and when I would ask her what she was thinking about, she would give a start, and laughingly say that she was dreaming about her father and mother, and of the days when she was a little child."
"Did your mother ever tell you why she left her happy home?" Natsatt eagerly asked, feeling sure that now he was to find an answer to the question which had been puzzling Ranger Dan for long years.
"Ah, ah. She told me something, but not all. She said she had been stolen away by a band of cruel Coast Indians one bright summer afternoon, as she was wandering in the forest near her father's home. She had pleaded with them, but they had only laughed at her tears, and had hurried her forward. Then they met an Ayana Indian, my father, who rescued her. That is about all I know."
"But why did not your father take your mother back?" Natsatt questioned. "Did she never wish to return to her old home? Did she not know how her father and mother would grieve about her?"
"Ah, but she did go back. My father took her; but the old home was deserted. Some Indians they met told her that her mother was dead, and that her father had gone never to come back again."
"Oh, I see," Natsatt mused, half to himself. "So there was nothing for your mother to do but to return with her husband?"
"Nothing."