Mother Eunice gathered her child in her arms and carried her within the wigwam, laying her on a bed of cedar boughs covered with a heavy blanket. Naki explained that Eunice had been accidentally shot by a rifle. The old woman grunted. Without a word she tore down a bunch of herbs that hung at the side of a wall. Placing them in an iron pot she went out of her tent and stirred her fire into a quick blaze.
All this time the Indian woman had not spoken to Mollie, nor had she appeared to know that anyone else was near.
Mollie had followed Eunice into the wigwam and knelt by her side. The child moved restlessly. Mollie leaned over her and unfastened her dress. Around Eunice’s neck was an amulet of gold, each link in the chain carved with curious Indian characters. At the end of the amulet, on a square of beaten gold about an inch in size, was a monogram in English lettering. Mollie had only time to see that the letters, looked like E. L. or E. S. She could not tell which, for the Indian squaw was back in the room, scowling at her.
As the grandmother tore the bandage from the little Indian girl’s arm and washed the wound with her healing herbs, Mollie saw that under the clothing, the child’s skin was several shades fairer.
At last the Indian woman rose up from her knees. “Let them come,” she requested of Naki. “Let those who linger in the bushes outside my wigwam draw near to it. But beware how they cross the threshold of my tent!”
The squaw stood at her own door, waiting to speak to the girls and Reginald Latham, as they drew near. “You have injured my child!” she said bitterly. “Even in times of peace no Indian seems safe before the bullets of the white man.”
Bab colored deeply. “I am dreadfully sorry!” she declared. “It was I who hurt your grandchild. Naki has told you what happened. How could we know she was hiding near us? But, now that I have hurt her, you must at least let us do what we can for her. Naki shall go down the hill and send a doctor up here to look at Eunice’s arm.”
“Ugh!” grunted the squaw. “An Indian has no need of the white man’s doctor. I shall tend my child. Begone, all of you!”
Reginald Latham moved back a few paces; but Bab, Grace and Ruth did not stir.
“Naki,” Ruth gave her order quietly, “go down the hill at once and see that a doctor comes up to look at this child’s arm. An Indian’s treatment for a bullet wound may be a good one. I do not know. But I do know I am not willing that this child should not see a doctor. Bab and I would feel responsible all our lives if anything serious resulted from this accident. Go immediately, Naki,” Ruth ended. She was her father’s daughter. Though she seldom asserted her authority, there were times when she insisted on obedience.