The Indian paused a moment, then indicating the sun with his outstretched arm, slowly raised it until it pointed to the zenith.
“Then,” he said, briefly.
The maiden understood him, and bowed her thanks.
Noon came, and Emily began to grow despondent. She was fatigued, and longed for rest. Still there were no signs of stopping, and she began to doubt if there had been a perfect understanding between herself and Red Wing. She could see that the sun had passed the point indicated, but still they kept on.
Suddenly the loud barking of an Indian dog startled her. In less than a minute a group of filthy, squalid women and children appeared, curious to discover the cause of the outbreak. They seemed very much astonished, and, while a few ran to spread the tidings, the remainder clustered about the party. Emily looked upon the wretched creatures for a moment, then turned from them, overcome with feelings of shame and disgust.
In a few minutes they arrived in sight of a small Indian village, and this Emily felt was to be the scene of her captivity. She regarded it with eager interest.
A collection of rude huts were scattered along the banks of a small stream. There was no taste or regularity there, every thing being in disorder, and fearfully filthy and repulsive. It seemed the tidings had already reached the place, as women and children were huddled along the way. Like those Emily had seen before, all were disgustingly repulsive in appearance. It would have been but human, had all the fortitude of the poor girl deserted her now. But, she closed her eyes to shut out the spectacle, and nerved herself to bear all.
The party took its way into the village, and, surrounded by a motley throng, proceeded up the street, till near the upper end of the place. Here they stopped, and the prisoner was allowed to alight. The throng now gathered more closely about, and a living circle of faces peered curiously upon the captive. They were allowed to gaze for some minutes, when a word from the chief dispersed them, and they retreated, apparently dissatisfied that they were not to have the luxury of seeing the fair prisoner tortured.
There remained but one woman in her presence. Emily saw with horror that she was a white woman like herself, though dressed in Indian costume, and like them in appearance. She stood a little apart from the braves, and was regarding our heroine with a curious scrutiny. When the horde dispersed, the chief of the warriors approached the woman indicated, and conversed earnestly with her for some minutes in the Winnebago dialect.
“So, ma’am,” the woman said, in a coarse voice, as she approached, “you air the new bird o’ Mister Ashbey, be you!”