“But why?” Philip asked suddenly. “Is it necessary?”
She gave him a look of utter scorn. “Do you know anything about this country? Do you know what’s happened?”
“No,” said Philip, meek as a lamb, “I don’t.”
“Well, they’ve come down for blood—from the North, and they aren’t afraid of any white man and they never heard of God. Besides, before night the fire will be here.”
She turned suddenly and poured out a torrent of guttural sounds on the miserable Arab, who turned and entered Swanson’s hut.
“If he tries to escape,” she told Philip, “just shoot him, and remember I know what I’m talking about.... I’ve lived among ’em.”
Taking her canvas bathtub, she left them, going down to the Lake.
They knew now what they had to fear, and with the knowledge Naomi seemed once more to gain control of her flagging spirit. There was even color in her cheeks and a new light in her pale eyes. To Philip she seemed almost pretty.
After the Englishwoman had disappeared, she called Philip and Swanson and said, “I am not going to leave. God means us to stay. He has refreshed my spirit.”
Philip argued with her. “The Englishwoman knows best; she has lived here.”