She steps out of the bushes, and comes boldly towards the crowd. All eyes are turned upon her with looks of wonder and admiration. We scan her face and figure and her striking attire.
She is dressed not unlike the Indian himself, and there is resemblance in other respects. The tunic worn by the girl is of finer materials; of fawn-skin. It is richly trimmed, and worked with split quills, stained to a variety of bright colours. It hangs to the middle of the thighs, ending in a fringe-work of shells, that tinkle as she moves.
Her limbs are wrapped in leggings of scarlet cloth, fringed like the tunic, and reaching to the ankles where they meet the flaps of her moccasins. These last are white, embroidered with stained quills, and fitting closely to her small feet.
A belt of wampum closes the tunic on her waist, exhibiting the globular developments of a full-grown bosom and the undulating outlines of a womanly person. Her headdress is similar to that worn by her companion, but smaller and lighter; and her hair, like his, hangs loosely down, reaching almost to the ground! Her neck, throat, and part of her bosom are nude, and clustered over with bead-strings of various colours.
The expression of her countenance is high and noble. Her eye is oblique. The lips meet with a double curve, and the throat is full and rounded. Her complexion is Indian; but a crimson hue, struggling through the brown upon her cheek, gives that pictured expression to her countenance which may be observed in the quadroon of the West Indies.
She is a girl, though full-grown and boldly developed: a type of health and savage beauty.
As she approaches, the men murmur their admiration. There are hearts beating under hunting-shirts that rarely deign to dream of the charms of woman.
I am struck at this moment with the appearance of the young trapper Garey. His face has fallen, the blood has forsaken his cheeks, his lips are white and compressed, and dark rings have formed round his eyes. They express anger, but there is still another meaning in them.
Is it jealousy? Yes!
He has stepped behind one of his comrades, as if he did not wish to be seen. One hand is playing involuntarily with the handle of his knife. The other grasps the barrel of his gun, as though he would crush it between his fingers!