Seymour stood and stared at the young woman, marveling at her complete transformation. A right good make-up, she had called it. He could truthfully make the statement stronger. When her eyes were hidden and her voice stilled, all trace of his beloved was gone. She looked as Siwash as though she had been born on the trail of a squaw mother and had passed her babyhood strapped to a board.
The fine lines of her slim young figure were swathed in rags after the fashion of the North Coast native women. Waist line was nil, her makeshift skirt seemed to drop from her shoulders. For a one-piece garment, it certainly was of pieces, patched and pinned and tied together. He doubted if she could step out of it without taking it apart.
To her complexion she had done something to give it a rich copper tinge. The hands were stained to match. Her lips had been thickened with paint lines and over her patrician nose ran a series of blue lines, a counterfeit of the tattooing with which the Argonaut native women disfigure themselves. A finger tied up in a soiled rag added the last touch of verisimilitude.
Recovering from his first shock, Seymour reminded himself of their situation. "Didn't I make it plain yesterday that your coming here was beyond all reason?" he demanded almost petulantly.
"Not so far beyond as myself," she murmured rebelliously. "I'm here, am I not? And you'll find me more reasonable for having had my own way."
She intended following him from the first, she admitted, and for that reason she had watched his descent from the top of the cliff, marking the difficulties he had overcome. After helping her father back to the mission, she had given her evening to make-up and costume. She left home before daybreak.
"Do you mean to say you tip-toed that ledge and made the jump into the fir tree?" he asked incredulously.
She shook her head, flashing him a smile. "I profited by watching you. I came all the way down by rope, bringing an extra coil, ready knotted, from the mission and tying it to the end of yours."
"But you won't be able to fool the squaws!" he observed, again looking troubled.
"Haven't tried. They think I slipped in to see how they are faring and togged out as one of them that the whites would not suspect my visit. They seem pleased—perhaps flattered—and will keep my secret."