"I caught a young goat, Martin; in a noose of hide set among the rocks; and then—then I had to kill it—O Martin!"
"You—caught and—killed a goat!"
"Yes, Martin. You had to be fed—but O, the poor thing—!"
"Surely," said I at last, "O surely never had man so brave a comrade as I! How may I ever show you all my gratitude?"
"By going to sleep, Martin. Your wound is well-nigh healed, sleep is all you need." And sleep I did; though at that time and for many nights to come my slumber was haunted by a fear that the Indian was back again, and others with him, all stealing upon us to our torment and destruction. But in this night I awoke parched with thirst and the night very hot and with the moon making pale glory all about me. So I got to my feet, albeit with much ado, being yet very feeble when her voice reached me:
"What is it, Martin? Are you thirsty?"
"Beyond enduring!" says I.
"Bide you still!" she commanded, and next moment she flits soft-footed into the moonlight with one of our larger shells to bring me water from the rill near by; but seeing me on my feet, looks on me glad-eyed, then shakes reproving head.
"Lie you down!" says she mighty serious, "Lie you down!"
"Nay, I'll go myself—" But she was past me and out of the cave or ever I might stay her; but scarce had I seated myself upon my bed than she was back again, the shell brimming in her hands; so I drank eagerly enough but with my gaze on the sheen of white, rounded arm and dimpled shoulder. Having emptied the shell I stooped to set it by, and when I looked again she had vanished into her own small cave.