"The ferryboat's upset, and they're in the river; but we can reach them before it's too late, if you'll come with me, and quick," I answered, grasping her hand.
"The white child's mother's in the water?" she answered, interrogating me and pointing toward the river.
"Yes, my father and mother; and quick, please, or it'll be too late," I answered, in a frenzy of haste. Comprehending at last, she answered, and now with animation and a wish to aid me:
"Yes, yes, my child; I'll come, I'll come."
Saying which, she started forward, but as she did so the room darkened, and looking up I saw an Indian chief standing in the open door. His face and rugged features, bronzed by the sun, bore traces of paint, and surmounting his head, which seemed higher and greater than that of other men, there waved a plume of crimson encircled about with feathers of the sparrow-hawk. When he smiled with gentle tenderness on my companion I was filled with new hope; but a moment after, looking in my direction, his face darkened, as if he saw in me one of a race he hated, and so was dumb. Trembling, I could not speak; and looking toward him spellbound, his form, before commanding, seemed to tower higher and higher, while his eyes glowed in his dark face as if emitting flames of fire. Looking up, the woman spoke to him in the Indian tongue, smiling as she did so; but to all she said he paid no heed. At last, going to where he stood, she put her hand upon his breast and spoke to him again, and now with entreaty, as if asking a boon, pointing first at me and then toward the river. As she went on in this way, his features after a while relaxed, and finally reaching out his hand as if in acquiescence, he let it rest in gentle caress upon her upturned face. At this she smiled and drew back, as if made happy by his touch. Crossing the room and opening a door that led into a dark inclosure, he brought forth an oaken oar, and looking toward me, said, as one accustomed to command, but not unkindly, "Come." Upon this, and without speaking, I followed to the shore where the boat lay hid. Shoving it into the stream, he motioned me to enter, seating himself in the stern. Pointing upward as we reached the open water, I cried:
"There, there! they must be there!"
To this he vouchsafed no reply, but dipping his oar far into the water, the little boat shot into the bay and thence into the stream beyond. This, while still disturbed by high-rolling waves, was no longer lashed by the storm, the hurricane having passed as quickly as it came. Standing up in the boat, as we went forward my eyes sought in vain for some glimpse of those we came to help. At last, seeing nothing, fear chilled my heart and my limbs grew cold; but as we neared the center of the stream and were yet unable to discover any trace of those we sought, I saw above the glistening whitecaps, far away, an object rising and falling in the troubled waters. Filled with new hope, I pointed toward it, crying:
"There, there they are!"
Upon this my companion, putting forth all his strength, the boat flew through the water as a swallow might cut its surface, and in a moment I was made happy by the sight of my father upholding the form of my dear mother. At this I called to them, but they returned no answer to my anxious cry; and at last, when we had reached the spot, I should still have lost them except for the great strength of my companion, who, stooping, lifted first my mother and then my father into the boat, and they were safe.
Embracing them, with tears of joy, I stripped off my jacket and wrapped it about my mother's form, and for this she gave me a gentle smile, but speech or motion seemed gone from her forever. At the sight, my father, who did not appear much the worse for his adventure, fell to chafing her hands and limbs, I helping, and this with such vigor that in a little while she was able to move and speak. Now, after some further respite, my father turned about and thanked our rescuer with every show of love and gratitude for what he had done. To this, however, the other made no response, nor indeed appeared to have heard what was said to him. His eyes, turned toward the shore, were fixed on the dark forest we were fast approaching, and this as if there was naught else on earth. Thinking he had not heard, my father thanked him again, and now more earnestly. To this the chief at last responded, but without lowering his gaze or manifesting any interest whatever in those about him.