And then––as he ran, and turned where the trail circled a rugged column of stone at the edge of the piñon woods,––there a shadow flitted as a bird past the great gray barrier. He turned from the trail almost without volition of his own, and followed the flitting shadow, and––the maid of the bluebird wing was again before him!
Not merging into the shadows as before. Against the grey wall of rock she stood as a wild hunted thing at bay––breathless, panting––but with head thrown back to look death in the face.
But death was not what she saw in his eyes––only a wonder great as her own––and with the wonder fear,––and something else than fear.
Plainly she had been bound by thongs of rawhide, for one yet hung from her wrist. Much of her body was bare, her greatest garment was a deerskin robe held in her hand as she ran.
Because of this, could he see that her body and her arms were decorated with ceremonial symbols in the sacred colors, and the painting of them was not complete. It was evident she had been chosen for the 205 forest dance of the maidens who were young. It was plain also that she had resisted, and had in some way broken from the people.
At the something other than fear in his eyes, she gained courage, and at the bluebird’s wing in his head band, she stared and touched the one in her own braids, and then touched her own breast.
“Doli (Blue Bird)––me!” she said appealingly. “Navahu”––then she held her hand out as though measuring the height of a child.––“Te-hua––me!”
“Te-hua!”––he caught her hand and knew that she was not a vision, though he had first known of her in a vision. She was a living maid, and twice on wilderness trails had she come to him!
“Te-hua––you?” he half whispered, but in Te-hua words she could not answer him––only begged rapidly in Navahu for protection––and motioned with fear towards the villages where the tombé was sounding.
To give help to an escaped captive of Te-gat-ha while on the trail to ask friendship of Te-gat-ha, was an act not known in Indian ethics––but as when he had been wakened by her in the cañon of the high walls––so it was now––the outer world drifted far, and the eyes of the girl––pleading––were the only real things. In his hours on the trail through the forest he had thought the ever-present picture of her in his heart might be strange new magic for his undoing, but to hear her tremulous girl voice:––and to see the broken thong, and the symbols of the most primitive of tribal dances, drove into forgetfulness the thought of all magic that was false magic. The gods had sent the vision of her in the dawn of the sacred mountain, that he––Tahn-té––might know her for his own when she crossed his trail for 206 help. The Navahu goddess of the earth jewel had surely sent her––else why the pair of blue wings between them? The symbolism of it was conclusive to the Indian mind, and he reached out his hand.