“I eat the sweet flower of this little plant. If you eat of this, you shall not thirst,” said the girl.
Now they had ridden far and hard and the day was very warm, so when the men heard this, they bent and gathered bits of the plant. It was sweet and pleasing to the taste, so they ate more and more of it. And the Indian girl watched them and smiled when none could see.
It was decided to get the evening meal while the oldest chief bound the ankle of the girl. So they hurriedly cooked it. But before it was ready, the leader leaned against the old tree and he was asleep. Then another and another slept. Stronger than opium had been the flower that they had eaten.
Kagigegabo watched them while her own eyes began to droop. She must not go to sleep. Oh! what could she do? She must ride when they were asleep. What could she do? She turned and twisted the broken ankle. That helped a bit, for the pain was intense. She pulled great locks of her hair and tied them about her fingers so that the blood would have to force its way about. And after 127 what seemed to her to be hours, she was still awake and the five men were all sleeping.
Slowly, very slowly, she pulled herself away from the fire out into the bush where her pony was tied. Her feet seemed determined not to move and she wanted so much to lie down and sleep. But she kept on till she had led the pony away from the group. Then she mounted and started on her ride.
But it was no use. She could not stay awake. Now what was she to do? They were on the direct road to the valley. For a moment she hesitated. Then quickly she tore her dress in strips. Taking a sharp stone, she cut her arm and with the blood she made two pictures on a piece of wood—the one showed five Indians asleep—the other showed an Indian girl by the road. Taking the strips from her dress, she fastened the bit of wood to the saddle.
She took from her arm the circle of brass which would tell her father from whom the message had come, and fastened it to the saddle. Then a cut of the whip across the legs sent the pony flying down the path.
After he had gone, the girl sat in a dazed way near the path. She was so tired. If only they would hurry, then she could tell them which way to go—but sleep came before the pony had gone even one mile.
Five days later, Kagigegabo opened her eyes slowly and looked about. She was lying on the skins in the wigwam of her mother. Her ankle was tightly bound and she felt very stiff and sore. Across her wrist there was an ugly cut. No one was about so she lay there trying to remember what had happened. How long had she been there and where was her mother?