“Stop!” said the Indian, sternly. “No cry, or I kill you.”
Carrie stopped, in greater fear than ever. The stern face of her companion made it not improbable that he might carry out the fearful threat he had uttered. So she checked her audible manifestations of grief, but the tears still coursed silently down her cheeks.
“What will mamma say, and papa—and Julius?” This was the thought that continually occupied her mind. Would she never see these dear ones again? Must she spend all her life with the wicked Indian? At any rate, when she got to be a woman—a great, strong woman, and knew her way about, she would run away, and go home. But there would be a good many years first. She wondered whether her skin would turn red, and she would look like the Indians. Then her father and mother would not know her, and would send her back again to live with the Indians. Altogether, however groundless some of her fears might be, little Carrie was very miserable and unhappy.
Meanwhile the Indian strode along. The little girl was forced at times to run, in order to keep up with{174} her companion. She began to feel tired, but did not dare to complain.
At length they stopped. It was at a place where the Indian had spent the previous night. A few leaves had been piled up, and the pile was arched over by some branches which he had broken off from the surrounding trees. It was a rude shelter, but was a little better than lying on the bare ground.
He turned to the little girl, and said, “This Indian’s house.”
“Where?” asked the child, bewildered.
“There,” he said, pointing to the pile of leaves. “Suppose pickaninny tired; lie down.”
Carrie sat down on the leaves, for she did feel tired, and it was a relief to sit. Had Julius been with her, or her father, she would have enjoyed the novel sensation of being in the heart of the woods, knowing that she would be carried home again. But with the Indian it was different. Her situation seemed to her very dreadful, and she would have cried, but that she had already cried till she could cry no more.
The Indian gathered some more leaves, and threw himself down by her side. He looked grave and impassive, and did not speak. Carrie stole glances at him from time to time, but also kept silence. She felt too miserable even to repeat her entreaties that he would take her home.{175}