In the other cabin, Harris listened intently to each word uttered. His eyes fairly blazed in his eagerness to hear ’Tana’s final decision. But when Akkomi slouched past his door, and peered in, with his sharp, 251 quick eyes, he had relapsed again into the apathetic state habitual to him. To all appearances he had not heard their words, and the old Indian walked thoughtfully past the tents and out into the timber.
Lyster called some light greeting to him, but he barely looked up and made no reply whatever. His thoughts were evidently on other things than camp sociabilities.
It was dark when he returned, and his fit of thoughtfulness was yet upon him, for he spoke to no one. Overton, who had been talking to Harris, noticed him smoking beside the door as he came out.
“You had better bring your camp down here,” he remarked, ironically. “Well, for to-night you will have to spread your blanket in this room if Harris doesn’t object. That is what I am to do, for I’ve given up my quarters to the ladies, who are afraid of snakes.”
Akkomi nodded, and then Overton moved nearer the door again.
“Jim, I may not be back for an hour or so. I am going either on the water or up on the mountain for a little while. Don’t lie awake for me, and I’ll send a fellow in to look after you.”
Harris nodded, and ’Tana, in her own room, heard Overton’s steps die away in the night. He was going on the water or on the mountains—the places she loved to go, and dared not.
She felt like calling after him to wait to take her with him once more, and did rise and go to the door, but no farther.
Lights were gleaming all along the little stream; laughter and men’s voices came to her across the level. Her own corner of the camp looked very dark and 252 shadowy in comparison. But she turned back to it with a sigh.
“You may go, Flap-Jacks,” she said to the squaw. “I don’t mind being alone, but first fix the bed of Harris.”