"Klukwan will stand by the Ayana squaw," he said. "She shall not be put to death. Let any warrior raise his gun against her and he will answer to Klukwan. Make the squaw fast to a tree, so she cannot escape. Let the chiefs son speak."
Thus appealed to, and with the eyes of his men turned upon him there was nothing for the weak vacillating creature to do but to give voice to his thoughts. He knew only too well that what Klukwan said he would do would be carried out to the bitter end. He did not wish to have friction among his band at such a critical moment, when unity was needed in their attack upon the whites. He believed, too, that some of the warriors would side with Klukwan, and disastrous might be the result. According to the superstitious idea which had been instilled into him from childhood he felt that the maiden should die. But he wished to delay her death now, and put off the performing of it in order to keep peace. Something might happen, so he thought, which would not make it necessary. She might get well, or Klukwan might change his mind and consent to her death. That she should recover he earnestly desired for he wished to possess the maiden, and take her back in triumph to the coast. Such a beautiful creature added to his list of wives would make him the envy and admiration of other tribes far and near, as well as among those of his own people. He accordingly gave it as his opinion that the possessed squaw should be taken to the very tree where her father, Klitonda, had been bound, and there made fast.
Owindia made no attempt to resist the rough hands which were laid upon her. She permitted herself to be led to the tree where she was securely tied. She continued to talk, however, about the coming of the Chilcats, and occasionally she would sing. But as the day wore away she became silent, and her head drooped. She made no effort to support herself, but allowed her whole weight to bear upon the moose-hide thongs with which she was bound. Her face was hot and flushed, which even the air of evening could not cool. It was the heat of fever which was raging through her whole body. When night shut down she was left alone, all the warriors having gone to surround the Post. But she knew nothing of time or events. She was living in that strange world of wild unrealities, where the mind seems to depart from its earthly tenement and roams through vast vistas of unknown regions. As the darkness deepened, and the air grew colder her ravings returned. She called for Natsatt, and implored him to come to her. Now she was with her father out upon the trail, and again she was a little child playing by the side of her mother along the river's bank. She sang, too, not the songs of the Indians, but the ones her mother had taught her. Night, desolate night, covered her form, but a darkness more terrible shrouded her mind, though it could not silence the music of her voice which floated forth among the trees clear, sweet, and plaintive.
[CHAPTER XX]
THE CALL OF THE HEART
When Natsatt reached the Post after his experience in the forest, and his conflict with the Chilcat, he found that Dan was watching for his return, and eagerly opened the gate in the fortification for him to enter. The rest of the men were astir. In fact a number of them had been on guard all through the night, and were weary after their fruitless watch. As soon as breakfast was over they threw themselves into their bunks, and ere long were fast asleep. Natsatt noted that his companions desired to shun him. They neither spoke to him nor made any remark as to his absence. A feeling of conspiracy seemed to prevail which he could not comprehend. He knew why several hated him, but could not understand why all should turn against him.
Dan alone was unchanged, and to him Natsatt told of his experience during the past night, and of his victory over the cowardly assailant. To all this the Ranger listened most intently. At times his brow knitted, and his eyes expressed surprise.
"I can't understand it, lad," he said, when Natsatt had ended. "The lassie seems to be a prisoner among them, but why she did not leave when she had an opportunity, puzzles me."
"She went there herself," Natsatt replied, "to save us and her own people. I forced that much from the Chilcat when I had the measly wretch upon his back. He didn't wish to tell me at first, but when he felt the sharp point of my hunting-knife tickling his ribs in no delicate manner he was quite ready to speak. He was lucky to get off with only the tickling, I can tell you that. He deserved the knife right up to the handle for his base attack."