“Why does he leave you, to seek one who is of another people?” asked Marion.
“His heart has forgotten Neenah,” replied the girl. “He is now talking with An-ga-ta. He wants my sister.”
“Oh!” said Marion, “I can not marry him! If your father would only let me go to my people!”
At that moment a shadow crossed the doorway, and the great sachem entered. Seating himself gravely, he continued in silence for some minutes.
“The Panther seeks the Dark Eyes,” he said at last. “He would have her to tan his skins, and keep his lodge-fire burning. When three suns shall pass, the marriage-feast will be eaten and the Dark Eyes be given to the Panther. Let her prepare.”
So saying the chief arose, and folding his blanket around him left the lodge, leaving Marion bewildered and despairing. She sat for a long time weeping bitterly, and paying little heed to Neenah’s expression of sympathy, and then retired to her couch.
All the long night she lay awake, thinking over the chief’s words, and trying to devise some plan of escape. So far from finding any, she only grew bewildered thinking of it, and with the first rays of dawn fell into an uneasy sleep.
The day passed drearily enough, and night came again and passed, and yet Marion was undecided how to act. The morning of the second day she arose, and dressing herself hastily, went out. She had always been allowed to walk about the village, the Indians knowing that there was no danger of her attempting to escape. To escape from them would only be to fall into the claws of some wild beast, or perish in the wilds from hunger and exposure. The day wore on while she rambled about, or sat in the shade of bushes on the river’s bank, gazing into its shining depths, and thinking of her circumstances. This was the last day of her freedom—if the morrow found her here, she would be made the wife of the Panther, according to Indian law. The thought was horrible! Every moment she grew more desperate. What could she do? Could she fly from the village and find her way to civilization? It was one hundred miles to Fort Laramie; could she ever reach there on foot? There was a bare chance of her falling in with some emigrants, yet it was hardly a chance, at all, so improbable was it. There were nine chances out of ten that she would perish before she could reach any fort or settlement, but death was far preferable to living with an Indian. She determined to try for her life.
Going leisurely through the village with some flowers in her hands, she attracted no unusual attention, and arrived at the chieftain’s lodge just after the hour of noon. She waited patiently till night, and retired as usual. She was somewhat puzzled to know how to leave the lodge without Neenah’s knowledge, as they occupied one couch. Trusting to Providence, she lay down as usual, and waited. For a while the Indian girl tossed about the couch, but, at length, her deep, regular breathing gave evidence that she was asleep. But not yet could our heroine start. The village had not subsided into quiet.
She waited, hoping and fearing, until it was midnight.