The spoils belonged to another—and that other, an Indian!
CHAPTER XLIV
THE MISSING BONDS
The walls of the room seemed the restraining bars of a prison, shutting her apart from life and the right to love. She lifted the latch and flung open the door, standing upon the threshold amid the seething inrush of the storm.
The fine snow felt good against her throbbing temples, and she stared into the blackness whose whirling chaos voiced the violence of the heart-storm that raged within her breast. He had conquered the storm!
She shivered as an icy blast sent the snow-powder flying half across the room, closed the door, and resumed her tireless journey to and fro, to and fro, and at each turn she glanced at the sleeping man.
She dropped to her knees beside the bunk and looked long into his rugged face. He, too, had suffered. She remembered the deep hurt in his eyes at their parting. Yet he was not beaten.
She had sent him from her, heartsick and alone into the great world, and he had fought and conquered and earned a place among men.
And as the girl looked, her eyes grew tender and the pain in her heart seemed more than she could bear. When she rose to her feet the savage hatred was gone from her heart, and in its place was determination—the determination to win back the love of this man.