If he could win the shy maiden to love the tangles of unshorn hair, the tried strength of his protecting arm, the sincere passion of his untutored heart, she should be his by the right of affinity.
The lion of his nature lay, however, for the present, unaroused. He only dreamed of the young form that he had held through the chill watches of the preceding night, and of the soft eyes that had answered his own with mute promises of deathless love in moments they had thought their last of earth—of the long, wild kiss with which he had sought to hold the sinking soul of the girl on his breast. And now they were safe and well again, almost strong, drinking delicious draughts of life, free to love, to live, to be happy!
The welcome supper was prepared. Dr. Carollyn himself attended to the quantity and quality of Elizabeth's share of the feast. Every morsel was ambrosial. The whole party were renovated by the needed refreshment. Nat told the story of his rescue of the kidnapped girl, his voice quivering slightly over the mention of Kit Carson's death.
The faithful horses who had borne Joe and the Doctor on their long, sultry ride, received their share of attention, being carefully watered, and fed on the short, coarse grass along the bank of the stream. Then, as the sunset hour approached, with wallets well filled with cooked antelope, and canteens overflowing with water, the quartette set out in good spirits, along the trail, hoping by traveling nearly all night, and making good speed next day, to overtake their company. To Buckskin Joe it was reserved to walk, he generously resigning his animal to Nat, while Elizabeth, as before, rode with Dr. Carollyn.
Without further accidents, and with only such events as were common to the journey, the party reached the encamped emigrants at the time they expected. A great shout of joy rung over the plain as the lost ones were welcomed back to the anxious company.
CHAPTER VII.
THE REVELATION.
I shrink from the embittered close
Of my own melancholy tale;
'Tis long since I have waked my woes—
And nerve and voice together fail.—Willis.
How may this little tablet feign
The features of a face,
Which o'erinforms with loveliness,
Its proper share of space.—Pinckney.