“It is borne by a woman,” said Earth; “an Ingen woman.”
“It is,” said Rolfe, “and she is alone.”
“I think so, for as yet I can see no one with her.”
“There may be,” said Earth, “but what can they have come for,—what can they be arter? Rolfe, I tell you what, I feel right ticklish.”
“Hush, Earth, the torch is approaching; let us conceal ourselves, that we may examine more closely.”
“Agreed.”
“See, she stoops, and searches;—what can it be for?”
“I know not. Let us approach, and obtain her history.”
And leaving their cover, they soon stood before an Indian woman, who, at the moment of their approach, was stooping down, and examining an indentation, apparently made by a human foot. Having scrutinized it for a time, she shook her head, gathered up her torch, and moved on.
“Come, speak to her, Earth,” said Rolfe, “and find out what she is after.”