"Opitsah!—Klahowya."
They brought him—his dark, sad-faced brothers—bearing him on a bed of elastic poles and the skins of beasts; and walking through the lines of blue-coats as if not seeing them, they laid him on the floor of the shack, and grouped themselves clannishly in one corner, near his head. Stuart knelt with trembling hands to examine the cruel wound in the throat, and turned away, shaking his head. He could not speak. There was a slow, inward hemorrhage. He was bleeding to death.
"Determination has kept him alive," decided the Major, when the spokesman of the Kootenais told of the shot on the mountain, and how they had to carry him, with Snowcap in his arms, to the wigwam of Grey Eagle; of the council through which he kept up, and then told them he would live until he reached camp—he was so sure of it! For the body of Snowcap he had asked the horses left in the gulch, and was given them—and much more, because of the sorrow of their nation. He did not try to speak at first, only looked about, drinking in the strange kindness in all the faces; then he reached out his hand toward Rachel.
"Opitsah!" he whispered, with that smile of triumph in his eyes. "I told you I'd live—till I got back to you;" and then his eyes turned to the Major. "I got a stand-off on the hostilities—till your return—inside my coat—I wrote it." He ceased, gasping, while they drew out the "talking-paper" with the mark of Grey Eagle at the foot, and on it also were their murderous stains.
"You—treat with them now," he continued, "but—be careful. Don't shirk promises. They're easy managed now—like a lot of children, just because they shot me—when I was carrying Snowcap home. But they'll get over—that, and then—be careful. They were ready for the war-path—when I got there."
He saw Captain Holt not far from him, and through the pallor of his face a faint flush crept.
"Well, I've come back for my trial," he scowled, with something of his old defiance; and the Major knelt down and took his hand.
"That's all over, Genesee," he said gently. "It was a big mistake. There is not a soul here with anything but gratitude and admiration for you. It was your own fault you were suspected; Miss Rachel has explained. Why did you not?"
He did not answer—only looked at her, and seemed gathering his strength for some final effort.
"I want someone—to write."