Edwards did not know what to say. He realized that Natachee’s visit, at that hour of the night, was more than a mere social call. He felt that for some reason he, the white man, had suddenly become of more than mere passing interest to the Indian. Recalling the Indian’s manner at the time of their last meeting, he waited anxiously for what was to come. He managed to murmur a few commonplace words of welcome.
Natachee said gravely:
“I have something to tell you—something which I think will be of interest.”
Edwards nervously offered a chair.
When they were seated, the Indian said:
“Perhaps I should tell you that I went to Tucson in your interest.” He smiled as he added: “In your interest—and for my pleasure.”
“I can’t see how my interests have anything to do with your pleasure,” returned the white man, stung by the touch of mockery in the Indian’s tone.
“No? I suppose you can’t. But you will understand presently,” said the other, as if he enjoyed the situation and would prolong the pleasure it afforded him to witness the white man’s uneasy fears.
“Suppose you explain yourself and be done with it,” said Edwards shortly.
“You white men are all so impatient,” murmured Natachee with taunting deliberation. “Really, you should learn a lesson of patience from the Indians. An Indian has need to be patient. He must wait and watch, long and untiringly, for his few opportunities, and then when his opportunity at last comes he must not fail through ill-advised haste to make the most of it. The white man squanders his pleasures as he squanders his wealth. With reckless, headlong, swinish eagerness to drink his fill at one gulp; he spills his cup of happiness before he has really tasted it. The Indian takes his pleasures with careful deliberation, as he compels his enemies to bear the pain of the torture, and so he enjoys in its fullness, to the last drop, whatever drink his gods are pleased to set before him.”