Crawford nodded. He was startled by the unexpected depth of thought in this redskin, by the dignified significance of these last words. Black Kettle continued.
“Always the Star Woman has sent her manitou to watch over Metaminens. Perhaps he met her again in the west, when he was Commandant; I do not know. He has often told of how her spirit saved him from danger, how her influence was exerted to help him in time of trouble, how her power among the western tribes aided him. No other white man has seen the Star Woman. This is all I know.”
Was this some old romance, then? Crawford frowned thoughtfully.
“Do you know what this Star Woman looks like?”
“She has hair of gold, and blue eyes, and wears a great star of blue stones.”
An exclamation of astonishment burst from Crawford. Thus had Moses Deakin described his vision in the witch-fluid! Yet it was impossible that he should have seen her thus, exactly as Perrot had seen her thirty years ago. No, undoubtedly he had heard Perrot’s description of her—this would account for the seeming wonder.
Crawford slept upon the matter, and in the morning found himself still perplexed. He looked at Perrot, found the latter sleeping easily and naturally. Black Kettle had been gone for an hour or more, seeking fresh meat, and Crawford now stole away to get a new stock of wood, which had to be chosen carefully if the fire were to be smokeless.
In half an hour he returned with his burden. He dropped this by the fire, straightened up—and found Perrot on one elbow, staring at him. Those clear and penetrating eyes, looking out at him from the white-bearded face, were sane. Crawford poured out some hot broth, and knelt beside the invalid.
“This first, then talk if you must,” he said. Perrot obeyed, then sank back and scrutinized him in frank wonder. Crawford lighted his pipe and sat down.
“Where are the Mohegans?” demanded Perrot.