The man declined the food, but drained the mug with an air of satisfaction, which showed how much he stood in need of water.
Much refreshed, he pulled out the Bible again, and looked earnestly at it.
“Strange,” he said, in the Indian tongue, turning his eyes on his surgeon-nurse; “often have I heard of men saved from death by bullets being stopped by Bibles, but in my case it would seem as if God had made it a key to unlock the gates of the better land.”
“Does my white father think he is going to die?” asked the girl in her own tongue, with a look of anxiety.
“It may be so,” replied the man gently, “for I feel very, very weak. But feelings are deceptive; one cannot trust them. It matters little, however. If I live, it is to work for Jesus. If I die, it is to be with Jesus. But tell me, little one, who art thou whom the Lord has sent to succour me?”
“Me is Softswan, daughter of the great chief Bounding Bull,” replied the girl, with a look of pride when she mentioned her father, which drew a slight smile from the stranger.
“But Softswan has white blood in her veins,” he said; “and why does she sometimes speak in the language of the pale-face?”
“My mother,” returned the girl in a low, sad tone, “was pale-face womans from the Saskatchewan. Me speaks English, for my husban’ likes it.”
“Your husband—what is his name!”
“Big Tim.”