“We have a respite until morning, cap’n! And well earned and dear bought, say I. He’s got two of our wounded men and will burn them to hearten his devils. Well, this time to-morrow night we’ll be burning too.”
In the last lingering light, two of the wounded warriors built up a last forlorn signal smoke; but from the silent forests across the lake, now purpling in the twilight, came no response, and the horizon was bare. The darkness fell. Behind the barricade now remained Crawford, Frontin, Black Kettle and four Dacotah braves. They had a little water, not much; this was saved for the Star Woman. Crawford took it to her with a scrap of food, as she lay beneath the crooked tree. She had just wakened, and her voice in the darkness thrilled him.
“Let the food wait. I have summoned Metaminens, called him; he is coming now. When the sun lifts over the east, he will come.”
“And except that two men are burning, we would be gone,” thought Crawford, but did not voice his thought. Nor did he seek any explanation of how she could summon Metaminens; there was in this girl more of mystery than he could fathom—and in the touch of her hand more of allure than he dared admit.
So as he sat beside her in the night, they talked a little space of the mother that she had lost; and Crawford spoke of the Irish girl whom he once had loved, and the name of Metaminens arose between them.
“He will be here at sunrise, and I shall see him!” said the Star Woman, and sighed. And at this Crawford leaned over and touched his lips to her forehead, and so left her. The Dacotah came and built up a little shelter of pine boughs above her, and she slept.
To the little group of wounded and desperate men who waited there by the crooked tree, the dark hours drew on terribly. From the sacred grove gleamed the lurid glow of fires, while the fierce laughter of the Stone Men told of the grim work going on there; and once the sharp scream of a man in mortal agony came wrenching through the darkness, but only once. Then, after midnight, silence fell, and Crawford slept a little.
In the rustling greyness of dawn, when mist-shadows were stealing up from the lake and the contorted shape of the sacred pine hung black against the paling sky, Crawford was wakened by Black Kettle.
“My brother, it is time. The Star Woman is awake, also.”
Crawford rose, shook himself, went to the little shelter of boughs.