“Mother,” said Rushing River, who in reality had been more stunned than injured—excepting, of course, the little finger, which was indeed gone past recovery.
“My son,” said Umqua, looking attentively in the chief’s eyes.
“The eagle has been brought down at last. Rushing River will be the same man no more. He has been hit in his heart.”
“I think not, my son,” returned Umqua, looking somewhat anxious. “A piece of the bad gun struck the head of Rushing River, but his breast is sound. Perhaps he is yet stunned, and had better sleep again.”
“I want not sleep, mother,” replied the chief in figurative language; “it is not the bursting gun that has wounded me, but a spear of light—a moonbeam.”
“Moonlight!” exclaimed Umqua, with sudden intelligence.
“Even so, mother; Rushing River has at last found a mate in Moonlight.”
“My son is wise,” said Umqua.
“I will carry the girl to the camp of mine enemy,” continued the chief, “and deliver her to her father.”
“My son is a fool,” said Umqua.