"I have changed my mind. That is, I think sometimes the law may be set aside. I wish to set it aside now—today—or soon."
"Go on," said Hector.
"You saved my life. I owe it to you; I know it. No man can owe to another man anything more precious. Then how can he repay such a debt? In this manner only, my son—by offering him the thing he values most in all the world—values as highly as—perhaps more highly than—his life, by tendering it as a gift. So shall he repay the debt he owes."
Hector waited, wondering. The old man sat for a long while silent, his face very tender.
"You see my daughter there—Moon-on-the-Water? Is she not beautiful? She has the eyes of a young deer, her hair is like the sky at midnight, her form like a willow drooping by the river and, when she laughs, we hear the voices of the prairie winds. She is the daughter of a line of mighty warriors and the blood of many chiefs is in her veins. She loves me with all her heart—has she not proved it?—and I know that she would gladly die for me. She is a light among all women. Where will you find her like?"
Hector, remembering her mellow voice, the mystery of her smile, the graceful swaying of her dress, answered,
"Yes, she is beautiful. She loves you."
"She loves me—yes. And I?" The old chief's voice trembled. Far off, through the stillness, faint and doleful, they heard the sound of a trumpet at Fort Walsh. "And I?—I hold her dearer than anything I possess. Many have wooed her, my son, and I have been offered much for her. Ten ponies, fifty rifles, have been offered me by more than one lover. She is worth twenty ponies—compared with other women! And so—you see how dear she is to me and how high the value young men have set upon her."
"Yes," said Hector.
"Then, to repay the debt I owe you with that which is most precious to my heart, I offer you my daughter Moon, to be your wife."