Suddenly Barbara raised her rifle. “No, don’t show me, Naki,” she protested. “I think I can take aim myself.” As Bab fired Mollie rose to her feet with a cry. She had seen something brown and scarlet moving in the underbrush on the hill below them.
Bab’s shot had missed the target. But did they hear a low moan like the sound of a wounded dove?
Barbara turned a livid white. “I have hit something!” she called to Ruth. But Ruth was after Mollie, who was scrambling down the hill.
The whole party followed them, Barbara’s knees trembling so that she could hardly walk.
There were tears streaming from Mollie’s eyes as she looked up at Bab. The child’s arms were around a little figure that had fallen in the underbrush, a little figure in brown and scarlet, with a wreath of scarlet autumn leaves in her hair.
“I have been afraid of this,” said Naki, pushing the others aside.
“It’s my little Indian girl!” Mollie explained. “She couldn’t bear to keep away from us, and at first I thought her the ghost of Lost Man’s Trail. I have seen her around our hut nearly every day; but I promised not to tell you girls about her. Is she much hurt, Naki?”
The man shook his head. “I can’t tell,” he said. “Better take her to the house and see.”
At this Eunice opened her eyes. Her lips were drawn in a fine line of pain, but she did not flinch.
“I will go home to my own tent,” she protested. “I will not enter the abode of my enemies.” The little girl struggled out of Mollie’s hold and rose to her feet. One arm hung limp and useless at her side.