"Why don't you come out?" he coaxed. "Surely you will thank the pony-soldier—the poor pony-soldier who ran so far to bring your baby back?"
She came.
Hector had leisure now to confirm first impressions. She was very pretty, in her Indian way. Her gentle eyes, clear and limpid as a fawn's, glanced shyly upward at his own. Her lips, on which the smiles were trembling, were red petals from the prairie rose. The two thick plaits in which her hair was braided were of that rich blue-black which is the exclusive birthright of Indians and Latins. She wore an elaborately beaded buckskin dress, which truly marked her as the daughter of a chief. The rare beauty of her body, unspoilt by heavy work, the looseness of her dress could not conceal. Hector could not place her age, but she was delightfully young; and that was good enough.
"Take it," he said gravely, handing her the bird.
Taking it, her small fingers mingling with his, she spoke at last, a swift smile bringing light to her face, like a rainbow in sad skies.
"Thank you, pony-soldier, for catching my baby."
Serious, then, both were, till all at once the humour of the situation struck her and her smile flashed back to break in little rills of laughter. She laughed like a child, with her whole body. Hector burst out laughing, too, his spirit echoing back her mood. MacFarlane, behind, growled peevishly. A moment more and her shyness was back again. Her pet on her breast, a final word of thanks on her lips, she vanished, leaving Hector standing there.
"You laugh with my daughter, my son? That is good—for to laugh is to be happy."
Hector turned, surprised.
Before him stood a chief—a minor chief, as chiefs went, but as fine a figure as the plains could boast of, the very soul of chieftainship. He was tall and spare, straight and majestic as a pine, dressed in a barbaric splendor which became him to perfection. But his greatness was written mainly in his face. The wisdom of a hundred medicine men, made rich by long years of life, was in it, with strength, true strength—which is utterly devoid of arrogance or vanity—the calmness of a meditative mind, vast dignity and high authority. And his long white hair and mighty war-bonnet framed it all with glory.