After the others had left the cabin, Akkomi still remained, and the girl watched him uneasily but did not speak. She talked to Harris, telling him of the funny actions of the two frightened women, but all the time she 250 talked and tried to entertain the helpless man, it was with an evident effort, for the dark old Indian’s face at the door was constantly drawing her attention.
When she finally entered her own room, he appeared at the entrance, and, after a careful glance, to see that no one was near, he entered and spoke:
“’Tana, it is now two suns since we talked. Will you go to-day in my boat for a little ways?”
“No,” she said, angrily. “Go home to your tepee, Akkomi, and tell the man there I am sorry he is not dead. I never will see him again. I go away from this place now—very soon—maybe this week. What becomes of him I do not care, and it will be long before I come back.”
He muttered some words of regret, and she turned to him more kindly.
“Yes, I know, Akkomi, you are my good friend. You think it is right to do what you are doing now. Maybe it is; maybe I am wrong. But I will not be different in this matter—never—never!”
“If he should come here—”
“He would not dare. There are people here he had better fear. Give him the names of Seldon and of Haydon.”
“He knows; but it is the new miners he fears most; they come from all parts. He wants money.”
“Let him work for it, like an honest man,” she said, curtly. “Don’t talk of it again. I will not go outside the camp alone, and I will not listen to any more words about it. Now mind that!”