Frontin lent him a pull, and he gained his feet. Except for some weakness, and the sore stiffness of his hurt body, he was well enough. Something struck his breast; and, feeling beneath the leathern shirt that clothed him, he felt the Star of Dreams. A smile touched his lips. He leaned back against the hole of the twisted pine tree, took pipe and tobacco.
“Good. Can we talk with her?”
“Easily. She speaks French as good as my own—though devil take me if I understand how she came by it! She is but a girl.”
“Why hasn’t she left here? Has Maclish been stopped? What has happened?”
Frontin shrugged. “My faith, she is past my comprehension! She refused to run, and Maclish is upon us. She is like all saints and holy folk—a trifle blind in the material eye, and inclined to place more emphasis on the heavenly host than the occasion warrants. If you could see over the trees here, toward the west, you’d see the smoke of Maclish’s campfires. His whole force is drawing in. Well, I’d better let her know that you’re awake. She thinks that Perrot will bring the Dacotah hosts and prevent a fight. See if you can put any reason into her head.”
With an air of sardonic gloom, Frontin departed, and disappeared in a thick grove of trees. Crawford perceived that this cliff was a blunt point on the end of a long promontory jutting out above the lake. The little open space at the end, where he lay beneath the twisted pine, was solidly closed in by trees.
Crawford was staring out over the lake again when a quick, soft step made him turn, brought him to his feet. So he saw the Star Woman for the first time and stood astounded, silent; the sunset glow softened the sharp contour of his face, kindled a flame in his hair, quickened the deep blue of his eyes and the vibrant energy of him, so that she stared likewise as though beholding him for the first time.
To his absolute bewilderment, Crawford saw in her the actual person visioned by Moses Deakin, and the memory stabbed him. This was no ancient sorceress, no Indian hag nor even woman—but a slender girl, a creature all blue and gold, her skin white and golden, her eyes great pools of gold-flecked lapis, her hair brighter than the flame of sun, her fawnskin dress a rich unbeaded yellow. Between her breasts hung by its thong a huge star of hammered silver, all set with turquoise, stones of purest unflecked blue. Yet it was not the sheer beauty of her that held him awed, but the calm serenity that shone from her.
Suddenly her face changed, as though her astonishment was past. Crawford became sensible of the peculiarly piercing quality of her gaze, and he was disconcerted to find it not entirely friendly. When she addressed him in French, he could not mistake her attitude of quiet aloofness.
“I am glad you have recovered.”