A faint noise behind caused Rodney to turn quickly. There stood Marie, the half-breed!
How much had she heard? the boy asked himself; but he was learning to control his feelings, and he said pleasantly enough, “Good evening, Maman. Louis is tired and I reckon wants to be in bed.”
“I want to sleep here,” exclaimed the child.
“Not to-night,” replied Rodney. “You are too tired and the bed in Maman’s lodge is softer.”
She took the little chap up in her arms and carried him away. It was evident she was fond of him, which might account for her having stolen him, as it appeared she had; also for her jealousy. What would be the end of the muddle? Rodney asked himself. He thought of the stake and the frenzied villagers dancing around the fire with blood-curdling yells. Would he be able to endure the torture? He hoped so, for the boy was proud of his race. But why borrow trouble? All around him were signs of peace and savage contentment. The little camp-fires twinkled in the gathering dusk. Some of the squaws sang bits of a wild lullaby to their children and he could hear, in droning refrain:
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“Wau, wau, tee, say. Wau, wau, tee, say,” |
sung as a lullaby by one of the squaws, who had slung the wicker-work frame, into which the papoose was strapped, across the limb of a tree and swung it back and forth while she sang, as one would rock a cradle.
“Poor little mummy,” thought Rodney. “No wonder Indians can endure pain. Tied into that framework straight as an arrow and unable to brush away a mosquito or help themselves, they ought to learn to endure anything.”