He gazed at her in amazement. Indian women of all types he had known, good and bad. But this type was unknown to him. Indian she was, but the soul looking through her dark eyes was the soul of a refined and gentle woman, and her voice and speech suggested a lady of his own race.
“You need not fear,” he said gently.
“Fear?” she said, still smiling. “Oh, no, I have no fear of you. You cannot hurt me. But I am glad you are here. I asked the priest to bring you. He is a good man. He will listen and you will listen. I have something to tell you. And Paul will listen too. It is for Paul I speak.” Her breath began to come in gasps.
“Do not distress yourself; wait till tomorrow,” said the missionary.
“No! no! Now! now! You will put it down for the police.” Her eyes carried her appeal to the missionary’s heart.
“I will put it down,” he said in a quiet voice, “if you will speak quietly.”
“I will speak quietly and will speak only the truth.” She fumbled at her bosom, drew forth a crucifix, kissed it, and in a voice calm and devoid of all trace of emotion told her story.
“It was his fault that my man was killed,” she concluded. “I planned to kill him. It was right that he should die, but for Paul I changed my mind. That night it was not in my heart to kill. I went to his house to get back from him money he had taken from my man, for Paul. Then I would go away, with my children, back to my people. He tried to do me wrong in his house. I struck him with my knife. The Chippewayan strikes but once. Then I was afraid. I put fire to the house, that my trail might not be found, and, like the storm wind, my pony carried me home. Before we could go Paul found us and came with us. He would not let us go alone. It was folly. Now I have brought him back before the light goes out of my sky. For these long, long years we have been like the wild deer, or the fox in the forests and mountains.” She paused, exhausted.
“Yes,” said the sergeant, “we could find no trace of you.”
“My father’s people would leave no trail of the daughter of their chief,” she said proudly. “Now,” she continued, after she had rested a few minutes, “I bring the son of my man back to his people. He is not Indian, and he must not join himself to my people. I have kept him clean. He will be great among his own people. This his father would wish. I have brought him back. You will take him to his people.” She turned her eyes upon the sergeant, waiting his answer.