Left alone, Ross threw himself upon the floor, and rubbed and kneaded his stiffened and swollen limbs. He wondered what La Violette’s intentions were. While he was still ransacking his brain for an answer, the young woman returned.
“Fleet Foot,” she called softly, musically, as she stepped within the room and let fall the curtain of skins.
“Here,” he replied, as he arose to his feet.
Guided by his voice, she found her way to his side, and murmured:
“Here is gun, knife, and ammunition. In the pouch you will find food.”
With the words, she placed the things in his outstretched hands. Now he understood her intentions. But he said nothing—his heart was too full.
“Have you flint and steel?” she inquired.
“Yes,” he managed to articulate.
“But one thing more—then you must be off. Hold out your right hand.”