"Oh, I had such a horrid dream, Julie," and nestling her head upon the bosom of her maid, she was soon asleep and wandering again in spirit with her lover through the prairie flowers.
They were astir early in the morning, and Annette, as was the habit of the Metis women, had about her shoulders a blanket of Indian red and Prussian blue. [Footnote: It is customary for Metis women, even the most coquettish and pretty of them, to wear blankets; and the hideous "fashion" is the chief barbaric trait which they inherit from their wild ancestry. Annette, of course, donned the robe under a mental protest. E.C.] Captain Stephens had gone abroad upon the prairie in the morning, and with his pistol shot a pair of chickens. These he handed to Annette as he returned, saying,
"Here my little hero deliverer; and take this, too," handing her a tiger lily, moist with dew. "Now, in what way can I assist the Cree boy who has twice saved my life?" and he looked wistfully into the eyes of the brown maiden.
"If monsieur will just sit there upon the grass, petite and myself will get the meal;" and straightway she began to pluck and prepare the chickens which Stephens had given her. The sun burned through the cobalt blue of the prairie sky, and there was not anywhere in the great, blue dome an atom of cloud. The sun and the rays from the fire combined made the heat unbearable, and Annette with no little confusion laid by her blanket. Perceiving her discomfiture, Stephens arose and wandered about the prairie, picking flowers; and only returned in obedience to the call of Julie's little silver whistle.
Very soon, the party was in motion along the trail, Annette leading, Captain Stephens riding in rear beside Phillips, who was again feverish with his wounds.
They rode till the post meridian sun became too warm, and then obtaining shelter in a bluff, they lunched and rested for several hours. They then resumed their march and continued it till the set of sun. During the day Stephens rode frequently by the side of Annette, but she invariably made her horse mend its pace, and rode alone. Despite his admiring glances, and his deep expressions of gratitude, Stephens gradually began to resume his old playful manner of address. He referred to her as "the little Cree boy," and in speaking of her to Julie or Phillips, always used the word "he." Annette took no heed of this; she led the party through mazes of woodland, across stretches where there was no trail, or selected the camping-ground.
"The moon rises to-night about twelve, monsieur," she said to Stephens when supper had been ended, "and we had better resume our march then. There is a Cree village not far from here, and the braves are everywhere abroad. I do not think that travelling by day would be safe; for all the Indians must have read the proclamation."
About midnight a dusky yellow appeared in the south-east, and then the luminous, greenish-yellow rim of the moon appeared and began to flood the illimitable prairie with its wizard light.
"So this miscreant has been hunting you, Annette?" said Stephens, for both had unconsciously dropped in rear. "I suppose, ma petite, if I had the right to keep you from the fans of the water-mill, that I also hold the right of endeavouring to preserve you from a man whose arms would be worse than the rending wheel?" She said nothing, but there was gratitude enough in her eye to reward one for the most daring risk that man ever ran.
"You do not love this sooty persecutor, do you, ma chere?"—and then, seeing that such a question filled her with pain and shame, he said, "Hush now, petite; I shall not tease you any more." The confusion passed away, and her olive face brightened, as does the moon when the cloud drifts off its disc.