He put his arm about her, and drew her into a close, tender embrace, imprinting a long and ardent kiss upon the rich red lips. "We are one, love," he whispered, "and what God hath joined together shall no man put asunder."
After some further discussion of their plans they separated, and by mutual consent were seen together less than usual during that day and the next, so fearful were they of arousing suspicion of their design to attempt an escape.
But late in the afternoon of the second day Rupert contrived to give Juanita the little morphine powder which she was to administer to Light-of-the-Morning and Crouching Wildcat, and to do it unperceived by any of the Indians.
Juanita hastily concealed it, fastening it into the folds of her tunic with a pin.
There were but few cooking utensils in the Indian village, but Light-of-the-Morning was the proud possessor of a little iron pot carried off by the braves in one of their raids upon their white neighbors, and of this Juanita was allowed to make use in preparing the savory stew of which Rupert had spoken.
When she proposed doing so to-night, the old squaw nodded consent with a smile of approval.
The newly made bride went cheerily to work, moving about with her accustomed grace, and softly humming a snatch of song, yet with a quaking heart as she thought of the risk she and Rupert were now to run.
As he and she were to partake of the meal, she also broiled venison and fish over the coals, and baked bread, making her dough into long, slender rolls, which she then twisted round and round a stick; that she stuck into the ground close to the fire, and so baked the bread, now and then pulling up the stick and replanting it with another side to the fire.
Light-of-the-Morning sat watching her with a look of great satisfaction, evidently enjoying the feast in anticipation.
At length all was ready, and Juanita began to despair of an opportunity to carry out her design, when the squaw supplied it by seizing a gourd and going for water for the meal.