The wounded warrior squatting beside the couch of the Star Woman sent a call to Crawford. He came to her quickly, knelt beside her; in his bronzed features was a great tenderness, and his fingers touched her brow, smoothing back the golden hair.
“You must stay quiet, Star Woman!”
She smiled a little. “Fear not, Wandering Star. In my sleep I have called Metaminens, and he is coming.”
“Can you reach him where signal smokes have failed, then?” asked Crawford bitterly. She put her hand to his, gripping his fingers.
“I am sorry that at first I did not understand what sort of man you are, Wandering Star; I did not guess what tenderness could be in you. I am only a weak woman, fighting the world with what weapons are mine, as my mother taught me. Now—I have thought of how to prevent more bloodshed, to save you and these others.”
Crawford’s steel-blue eyes hardened slightly. “How?”
“Maclish does not know that Metaminens is coming, and he will be trapped by to-morrow. Send him word that I am dying; let one of his men come and see me wounded. The Stone Men will be frightened, and Maclish will not know what to do——”
“No,” said Crawford. “Maclish means to have you alive or dead; he has gone too far to draw out now. If he knew that the Dacotah host was coming, he and the Stone Men might flee—but he would refuse to believe it, from our lips. Even if he believed it, he would attack us at once, in order to seize you and so buy his safety from Perrot. There is no way out of this imbroglio, Star Woman—except to hold out while we can.”
The eyes of the girl closed.
“You are right. I will send out my spirit to reach Metaminens, as my mother used to do. It is our only hope.”