"Go back to your white woman!" she cried stormily. "If you 'urt him, I pull her bandage off, and beat her arm till she die of pain!"
XVIII
MABYN MAROONED
When Natalie awoke, it was a gray and haggard Garth she saw through the raised flaps of her tent. His arms, folded on his knees, bore up his chin; and he stared before him, still pursuing the narrow round of his troublous thoughts. He was the gainer for his excursion, by valuable information—but he was no nearer the solution of it all.
Natalie partly raised herself on her good arm. "My poor Garth!" she said softly. "How very tired you are!"
His weary eyes lighted up. "I'm all right," he cried. "And how are you?"
"Splendid!" she said, matching his tone—while her face was drawn with pain. "Come in," she added softly.
He sat a little diffidently on the ground beside her; Natalie's room—though its walls were of canvas—was a sacred place to him when she was in it.