“There, that will do you good till I can prepare something better.”
She rose and ran to the fire which Tolly had already blown up almost to furnace heat.
“I filled the kettle, for I knew you’d want it,” said the boy, turning up his fiery-red visage for a moment, “It can’t be long o’ boiling with such a blaze below it.”
He stooped again and continued to blow while Betty cut some dried meat into small pieces. Soon these were boiled, and the resulting soup was devoured by the starving man with a zest that he had never before experienced.
“Nectar!” he exclaimed faintly, smiling as he raised his eyes to Betty’s face.
“But you must not take too much at a time,” she said, gently drawing away the mug.
Tom submitted patiently. He would have submitted to anything patiently just then!
During these proceedings the Indians, who seemed to be amiably disposed, looked on with solemn interest and then, coming apparently to the conclusion that they might as well accommodate themselves to circumstances, they quietly made use of Tolly’s fire to cook a meal for themselves.
This done, one of them—a noble-looking savage, who, to judge from his bearing and behaviour, was evidently their chief—went up to Betty, and, with a stately bend of the head, said, in broken English, “White woman git on horse!”
“And what are you going to do with this man?” asked Betty, pointing to the prostrate form of Tom.